Mass Effect 3: The Prince of Shadows
by Jack of the Blades
Summary: Post ME2. Shepard and his team have stopped the Collectors and their insidious plot, but the Reapers have awoken, and will return. Now John Shepard must track down the only known contact of the Collectors: The Shadow Broker. Male Shepard/Liara T'soni.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My Shepard is male. Paragon/Sole Survivor/Spacer. Enjoy!**

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**Crescent Nebula, Tasale System, Planet Illium, 1734 hours, Zeta time**

Illium came alive at night. By day, as Tasale shone down upon it, it was active, true, as business from across the galaxy, thousands of packages, personnel, and data arriving by the hour, came to this: the gateway to the Asari Republics.

But when the sun set, and twilight encompassed the cities, the planet's night life awoke. A city of lights, a horizon bright even after darkness fell, Illium was a testament to the ingenuity of the asari people. The sprawling cityscape never failed to beautify the surface of the world, spires reaching for the sky with such elegance that it seemed the structures had been built for their aesthetics alone.

Speeders and cabs glided through the air, whisper-silent, their tail lights glowing in the night like millions of fireflies. At any of Illium's many terraced ledges, one could look over the edge, and see nothing but light below.

Music drifted through the air, the driving beat of dozens of nightclubs, scattered throughout the city. On the elevated streets, high above the planet's surface, pedestrians looked out at this stunning vista, leaning against railings just to take in the colors of the night. They stood, individuals from across the galaxy, travelers and residents, all taking a moment out of their busy lives to admire Illium. They sat in twos, or threes. There were groups of friends, catching up on long lost time, lovers, sharing a special moment by the failing light of the sun.

But the shadows lengthened, and in their depths, one onlooker stood alone. He was a strange sight to see on Illium, shorter than the asari who populated this world, wearing a dark coat, buttoned up to his throat. His collar stood up, concealing his neck, and the brightly colored orange skin there. Best not to draw attention to himself.

It was no easy feat. Drell were rarely seen on Illium. His green, scaly face remained blank, unreadable, as his dead black eyes gazed at the sunset, too. He appreciated its beauty, from afar. But he had no time to waste. The sunset meant something else to him than it did for the others. Something much more real. A countdown.

Its last rays vanished below the horizon, and in a few minutes the street lamps would flicker on. The drell quietly strode forward, the signal having been made. The alien made for the nearest cab stand, arms crossed behind his back, deep in thought. Drawing up to the taxi terminal, he punched the button to hail a cab. A ghost program inserted into the system only hours earlier was triggered, set to respond upon being hailed at this time exactly. Just after sundown. But the purpose of this covert insertion was only to scroll a simple message across the screen:

_Would you like to upgrade to our premium service?_

A simple message. If anyone else had received it, they would have likely entered a _Yes_ or a _No_, only to discover that no such service existed. But the drell knew better. His dexterous fingers tapped quickly, _That would depend on the service._

With that, the terminal replied, _I see. One moment please._

The screen went dark. The drell made no attempt to reactivate the station, only waited, feet some two meters from the drop-off into oblivion. He didn't have to wait long.

An ordinary taxi drew level with the platform, hatch swinging open with a pneumatic hiss. Without a word, the passenger clambered in, sealing the entrance behind him. The driver sat beside him, an adult human. Female. Her dark-skinned face scowled cautiously out the driver's seat window, checking for anything suspicious. After a moment, she pulled the vehicle into ascent, satisfied. There was silence for a moment, before she glanced at the still figure of the drell, staring directly ahead. All precautions aside, she inquired, "Krios?"

Thane angled his head slightly to the right, listening. "Indeed. Do you have them, Miss…?" The memory lapse was not accidental. Drell had perfect memories. This was a test.

"Parasini. Gianna Parasini." She relaxed slightly. This was her man. "Yes. They're in the glove compartment."

With a curt nod, he opened the compartment, extracting several datapads. Putting these aside, he removed a dark paper envelope. Light, thin, but undeniably precious. Placing the document within his coat pocket, he placed the fake datapads back. Shepard didn't want to take any chances. If things had gone wrong, the decoys would have been taken. No one used paper anymore.

Parasini guided the aircraft along, eyes locked on the skylanes. "I hope they help, whatever they are. He didn't say what this was about," she muttered discreetly, before carefully adding, "I had to pull a lot of strings to get my hands on that."

"I assure you," Thane replied, a polite smile on his otherwise expressionless face, "Your efforts were not in vain." He glanced out at the passing buildings. One in particular caught his eye. "Set me down there, if you would." The Noveria Internal Affairs agent hung a sharp turn, bringing the cab down on the platform. Thane rose without a word, exiting the vehicle.

As the drell assassin made his way down the docking area steps, making for the crowd, Parasini called out, "Hey! Tell him he owes _me_ a beer next time!" Thane made no answer. He was already gone.

**SSV _Normandy _SR-2, In orbit around Illium, 2317 hours**

Commander John Shepard sat at his desk, poring over his private terminal. Scrolling through several unread messages, he selected one at random, and began to read. He needed something to do. Tali was right: the silence on the _Normandy _was deafening. None of the old voices he missed so much could be heard in the galley at mealtime, the familiar faces having vanished over the years. Some of them had merely gone on with their lives. Others, like Kaidan, or Pressly, had lost them. Either way, Shepard felt so very alone.

Glancing up from his work, he stared, not for the first time, at the holo propped up on his desk. It flickered gently, the smiling face on it looking at no one in particular, but radiant all the same. It was the only picture Shepard had of Liara T'soni, asari scientist turned information broker. Sometimes, when things got slow, he'd think about her. How they'd met under very dangerous circumstances on Therum, narrowly escaping geth capture. How he grew fond of her shy, awkward, bookish nature. How they'd prepared themselves for whatever Saren had waiting for them on Ilos, that one, glorious night. Of all the faces, he missed hers most of all.

Things were different now. Years had passed. Two whole years. So much had changed. His ship, his crew, his whole _life_, destroyed in a moment. The Collectors had taken that much from him. But he'd paid them back, all right. They'd taken his home, his team. He blew up their station. Seemed like a fair enough trade.

That didn't change anything, though. His friends had indeed gone on in his two-year absence. Two years of believing he was dead. No one could come back after so long, and hope for things to be the same.

But Shepard never expected Liara to become what she became. Ruthless, dangerous, just like her mother, Benezia. The innocent, wonderful person she'd been was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating being. Shepard liked to think that somewhere, Liara was still the woman he loved. He couldn't bear to think that the only time she'd ever look at him again with such carefree affection was in that holo.

Tearing his eyes away with some effort, he sighed audibly, running his hands through his close-shaven hair. He sat like that for a while, turned away from his work. Shepard contemplated the fish tanks, the music system, the whole excessive decadence Cerberus had afforded the Captain's Cabin. Personally, he didn't like it. He missed bunking with his friends. What he wouldn't give for the _Normandy_, for the old times.

But that was impossible. Now he was an ex-Cerberus asset, having done what he thought was right and destroyed that abomination in the Collector base, saving the galaxy once more and generally pissing off the Illusive Man. He didn't care. Whatever that bastard wanted with the Reaper, Shepard had been determined to deny him it.

He'd always hated Cerberus. He still blamed them for the disaster on Akuze, and he'd never been a pro-human. Not like them, at least. Maybe it came from loving an asari, but Shepard couldn't stomach the thought of human dominance. The galaxy had to be unified if they were going to stop the Reapers from returning, after all.

Where did that leave him? The Alliance and the Council had turned a blind eye to his Cerberus work, and they'd been appreciative of his alienating the Illusive Man once and for all. Things were still being worked out, but it seemed that the Council might have a mission for him. Councilor Anderson had tipped him off a month ago, saying that the crew of the _Normandy_ should start looking into the allies of the Collectors, the latter having been dealt with.

Maybe he was being sentimental, but he already had a lead. Liara. She'd told him that it was she who had given his body to Cerberus, in the hopes of resurrecting him. She couldn't let him go. It had broken her heart, but she had done it for him. Shepard gave a weak smile at that thought. Yes, somewhere deep down, she was still the Liara he knew.

But she'd said something else. To retrieve him, she'd had to cross someone who intended to sell his corpse to the Collectors, no doubt to have it liquefied and pumped into the Human Reaper. The Shadow Broker. Shepard had heard that name often, whenever he'd needed to dig into the criminal underworld of Citadel, to uncover the truth. Sometimes an ally, more often an enemy, the Shadow Broker dealt in secrets, and cloaked himself in just as many. Whoever he was, he was smart to hide. Liara wanted him dead for his crimes. For what he'd done to Shepard, to her friend, to her.

Whatever hole the Shadow Broker was hiding in, he'd have to dig a hell of a lot deeper to escape Liara's rage. Before, Shepard had been worried by his love's fixation, telling her that it would be best to let the matter drop. But she would have none of it. The Broker was already a dead man in her eyes. Killing him was just a formality.

But now Shepard was on his trail, too. If the Shadow Broker was working with the Collectors, then he was an enemy to every sentient being in the galaxy. He had to be stopped.

Which was part of the reason Shepard had come back to Illium. He'd visited here frequently before, when the mission against the Collectors was going slow, to pay Liara a visit. He'd always hoped to bring her out of her shell, out from behind that desk she now perpetually worked at. Every time, he'd failed. Now, however, he had another reason. They'd done some digging of their own. A couple rendezvous with shady criminals on Citadel, a 'friendly' visit by Garrus to Barla Von, one of the Broker's men. From what facts they'd been able to gather, the Broker was approximately… somewhere in the Milky Way. That sure narrowed things down.

But they'd had a break. Tali and Legion had done some fancy hacking, and secured a message addressed to one of the Broker's associates. It was encrypted, but with some work they'd broken through. Of course, it wasn't from the Broker himself. Just another of his infinite contacts.

Contacts. Damn, he hated that word. Ever since Liara had told him that she'd acquired some of her own, he'd realized what had happened to her. Contacts implied espionage, crime, spy-work. That wasn't what he wanted for her.

So they'd traced back to that contact, and from him on and on. They'd been across the galaxy, amassing enough hard evidence to track the Broker down. Then, two weeks ago, they had a break. The Broker happened to be keeping a private account on Noveria, the center of white-collar crime in the galaxy. No name, but Garrus was certain that with that information, they could track the Broker's activities. His personal agenda.

Luckily for them, they had a friend on Noveria. Shepard had called up Gianna Parasini, and asked her to get her hands on a certain bank record. They'd agreed to exchange the information here, on Illium. Shepard had chosen the place. As long as they were in-system, he could pay Liara a visit. Maybe—

No. There was no time for that. There was barely enough time as it was. The Reapers were coming, one way or another. The distance from dark space was astronomical, and without a Mass Relay it would take them quite some time, but they'd only slowed the invasion fleet down.

So what was taking Thane so long? He'd sent the drell down planetside hours ago. If something had gone wrong, they'd be set back months. They couldn't afford to—

"_Shepard?_" Garrus's voice came over the comm, and brought Shepard out from his meditation.

Punching the intercom button, he answered, "What's going on, Garrus?"

The turian sounded excited. "_Thane just got back. He has the papers._"

He was already halfway out the room. "I'm on my way down."

**SSV _Normandy_ SR-2, Command Deck, 2339 hours**

Shepard emerged from the elevator, making straight for the briefing room. The steel doors parted, whisper-silent, admitting him to the chamber. A table stood at the room's center, around it gathered his team, minus Joker, who still helmed the ship.

Garrus nodded from across the table, his mutilated face parting in a slight smile, which he seemed to immediately regret as he caressed his facial wound. Beside him stood Tali, scanning something into her omni-tool with practiced ease, her long quarian fingers nimbly tapping the controls. She paused long enough to give him a friendly nod, her purple visor concealing her facial expression.

Nearby, Legion idled, apparently inactive, but Shepard knew the geth infiltrator was likely running countless diagnostics at the moment. He'd become a useful supplement to EDI, the ship's AI. Mordin was stroking his chin thoughtfully, wide salarian eyes staring excitedly at Thane, as the drell reported on the mission.

Shepard approached the group, all of whom acknowledged his presence. Seeing them assembled like this made Shepard realize, with some alarm, just how small his team had become. Miranda and Jacob had returned to Cerberus, with the promise that they wouldn't disclose any information to the Illusive Man.

In all honesty, Shepard wasn't sure about his feelings toward their departure. On one hand, he was glad to see the duo go. He'd never trusted Cerberus or their people. On the other, she and Jacob had proven loyal allies through their mission, and Shepard had come to regard them as friends. Miranda had even stood up to the Illusive Man when Shepard made his decision to destroy the Collector Base. They'd stood by his side.

Of course, with the mission complete, they realized their place was with Cerberus, at least for the time being. Regardless of Shepard's opinion of the pro-human splinter group, it was an ally against the Reapers, and there they could do the most good.

He frowned marginally. Miranda and Jacob were good people, but Cerberus had warped their methods. Perhaps they would work together again. But without Cerberus in the equation. He couldn't accept anything done by the organization as noble, despite its claims. He winced at the thought that Liara had become just as ruthless.

No. He had to believe otherwise.

Samara had returned to her Justicar duties, having fulfilled her oath to Shepard, while Grunt had ventured back to Tuchanka, where he was welcomed into Clan Urdnot. Wrex had sent Shepard a message or two, telling him how things were holding up back on the krogan homeworld, with reassurances that Grunt was doing fine.

Jack had left the crew some weeks ago, disembarking at Omega Station. A less informed individual might think twice before leaving a young woman alone on Omega, but this was Jack they were talking about. Knowing her, she'd have already made herself a reputation. Shepard quietly hoped she just didn't piss off Aria.

Zaeed's contract complete, the mercenary had gone off to continue his search for Vido, his lifelong enemy. Another of the dubious Cerberus agents out of the way, Shepard found himself in good company. It was almost like old times.

Almost.

Thane approached Shepard, a look of triumph written across his scaly face. "Shepard," he intoned in his gravelly voice, "We have it." A single gloved hand extended, offering a dark envelope.

Shepard took the proffered package, noting, "Well done, Thane. I knew I could count on you."

With a muttered reply of, "It was nothing," Thane took a step back, as Shepard approached his team.

Holding the envelope over his head, he spoke to them, as he had so many times during their missions. "We're going to use this information to track down the Shadow Broker, and find out what he knows about the Reapers." Always the leader, he went on. "He thinks he can deal in secrets forever, sell out humanity and all the other races just for credits. Well," Shepard's expression grew determined, "We're going to teach him a lesson. We're going to show him what happens when he goes against the Alliance, the Council, and this team!"

There was general consensus at this statement, and the expressions of the assembled grew anxious, excited (With the exception of Tali, whose face remained hidden, and Legion, although no one ever knew quite what the geth was thinking anyway. To his credit, the metal flaps on his head rose marginally, so Shepard guessed he was interested, too). Without another word, Shepard glanced down at the seemingly innocent , he broke the seal with a sharp _snap!_ and opened the envelope.

Several documents had been neatly tucked in, folded crisply and filed away. Shepard removed the papers, unfolding the first among them. It was a printout of an extranet account.

It read:

[Intergalactic Bank of Noveria:

Account Number: 2936829

PIN #: *****

Account Balance: 12,743,192,561 Credits

Mailing Address: Citadel, Presidium Prudential Building, Apartment 502]

The invoice went on to list a series of withdrawals and deposits, each of staggeringly high quantities. It seemed the Shadow Broker was doing very well for himself, indeed.

Handing this document to the others to review, Shepard turned to EDI's avatar, a holographic orblike structure. "EDI, can you run us a cross-reference with the banking systems? I'd like to test this account number. I assume you still have access to your Cerberus hacking functions?"

"Affirmative," EDI chimed. "It will take time, but I should be able to come up with a more accurate idea of the Shadow Broker's activities."

"Do it." Leafing through the other documents, Shepard found more invoices, but nothing else of particular value. Handing these over to Legion for analysis, he turned to face the rest of his team once more. "It seems we have the good Broker's address. Who's for paying him a visit?"

A rousing chorus of "Aye!" responded, and Shepard nodded with approval. "Great. Joker?" A moment's silence, then the helmsman came over the Intercom.

"_Commander?_"

"Plot a course for Citadel Station. We've got a lead."

"_Sir, yes sir!_"

With an appreciative nod, the commander strode from the room, as the rest of the team rushed to their stations, no doubt to prep their gear for the mission. They were closing in on the Shadow Broker, and no one wanted to miss the fun.

But for Shepard, he found excitement for an entirely different reason. This information would not only help their investigation, but Liara's as well. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to—

_No need to get my hopes up. We need more data first._

He approached the nearest viewport, and gazed out at the stars as Joker brought the _Normandy _to bear, making straight for Tasale's Mass Relay.

_And we're going to get it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Serpent Nebula, Widow, Citadel Station, 1137 hours**

Hydraulic clamps pressed down on the _Normandy_'s hull, securing her in place as she docked at Citadel station. An offloading ramp extended, making contact with the airlock on the port side before sealing itself in place.

Shepard emerged through the hatch, closely followed by Garrus and Tali. The trio disembarked across the gangway, entering the station. They were immediately greeted by several customs officials, but upon realizing Shepard's Spectre status, they backed off. Fast.

After a brief stroll past security, the team made their way through Zakera Ward. It never ceased to amaze Shepard: the variety of alien life aboard the Citadel, the heart of all galactic civilization. The beautiful blue asari, the wise salarians, the powerful turians, all these races and dozens of others populated the station, representatives of empires beyond the stars. And of course humans, now. In little over thirty years, humanity had made its place in galactic society, the fourth race of join the Council. Of course, the alien government could hardly have refused, what with Shepard and the Alliance saving their scaly skins and halting the Reaper invasion over two years ago.

But humans were still viewed with some nervousness by the other species. As Liara had once put it, the galaxy saw humanity as something of a bully. He smiled at the memory of that conversation, in which she had spoken in that characteristic way of hers, always awkward and unsure of what to say. Oh god, he missed her. And he _would _get her back. Her troubles had caused her heart to harden, but Shepard knew the damage was only skin-deep. When she'd told him of her sacrifice, of bringing him back from the dead, he'd seen the sweet, helpless asari beneath all that posturing. The Shadow Broker stood in the way of Liara's piece of mind, and therefore Shepard's only chance of recovering her happiness.

He was going to bring him _down_.

Accessing an elevator, they punched the button for the Presidum level, where the Council Tower, the Embassies, and the Prudential Building stood, among countless other structures.

Three guesses as to where they were headed.

As the transparent doors slid shut, Tali noted, in her customary quarian accent, "Keelah! I hate these damned elevators, don't you? Last time we rode one, Saren tried to have us spaced, remember?"

Shepard smiled faintly. "That feels like a completely different lifetime. So much has changed."

Garrus's reptilian face grew distant. "Those were the good old days, eh, Shepard?"

Shaking his head, the commander replied, somewhat cryptically, "They're not over yet, Garrus."

The quarian and the turian exchanged glances at this, but made nothing of it. With that, the elevator console beeped, signalling they had arrived at their destination.

Emerging onto the Presidium floor, they were taken aback (not for the first time) by the glaring light thrown off by the white structures typical of the area. In all directions, monolithic ivory towers spanned the Presidium, bright in the perpetual daylight of the Citadel. It was never night here.

Ironically, that made the shadows all the darker.

Crossing a scenic bridge spanning the artificial lake, its waters so pristine, they made for the entryway to one of the larger towers. Passing into the awning's shade, Shepard read a holographic sign depicting the words, in multiple languages: _Prudential Apartment Building_.

This was the place. Glancing over his shoulder, he received reassuring nods of support from his team mates, who moved to back him up.

_No_, he thought to himself, as memories of the 'good old days' passed through his mind.

_They're not over. Not yet._

**Presidium Prudential Building, Apartment 502**

The room they were looking for was located on the fifty-third floor of the Presidium Prudential Apartment block, only two stories from the top. Of course, being of nonhuman design, one story translated into approximately sixty feet. It wasn't the penthouse apartment, oh no, that would draw too much attention.

But in Apartment 502, the tenant had plenty of privacy, plenty of time to work in secret, away from prying eyes.

The view didn't hurt, either.

From his lofty vantage point, the quarian known as Ord'Caator could observe all of his domain: the lakes, the masterfully crafted roads, the way the windows of Citadel Tower shone in the light. He lounged on the airtight deck of his apartment, reclining on a sofa custom-designed to accommodate his species. His long fingers, evolved to build and maintain machinery, gripped a glass of Illium's finest wine, having spent years since performing any real work.

Resting his bare head on an overstuffed pillow, he absently stroked his breather mask, which sat on his lap, and the gold filigree laid into it. His visor was crafted of the finest transparent platinum, and his exosuit gleamed brilliantly, having been polished to a near mirror-sheen that very morning.

He pressed the rim of the Tuchankan crystal tumbler to his thin lips, savoring not only the sweet taste of the latest asari vintage, but also the freedom of breathing freely from the clean, sterilized air produced by his first-rate ventilation system. Not many quarians could live in this level of opulence. Most would have killed just to live without an exosuit twenty-four seven.

Of course, one did not amass such wealth easily. Or legally. He smiled sleepily at the thought of another easy day's work, receiving more messages from contacts around the station, requesting to arrange a meeting with an agent.

He usually granted it, and thankfully pocketed his handsome commission.

That was it. Of course, it was much more complicated than that, a job requiring a quarian's skill with an omnitool, but it didn't require that he stray farther than his kitchen, so he really couldn't complain.

And the maid only ventured in once a day, to change out his silken bedsheets. The rest of the time he was free to live in the open-air paradise most quarians only dreamed about. Yes, life was bliss. It had been so long since he'd ever had to do any dirtywork, that he'd begun to let down his guard.

Which was why Ord'Caator exhibited some degree of alarm when his apartment door, code-locked, cycled open, giving him only a few seconds' warning to strap on his helmet and seal his suit. Rising from his resting place, he set down his glass, thoroughly annoyed, and stalked through his five thousand square foot apartment. Not as large as he would have liked, but he was saving up. He had his eye on a delicious piece of property a few floors up.

He stormed through various rooms, making his way past expensive pieces of furniture, fine turian rugs, and more than one entertainment system. Fine artworks hung on the walls, some of which C-Sec would have been _very_ interested in examining, since they'd been stolen some time ago. He passed the dining room, in all its splendor, before reaching the foyer.

"Okay, you little _bosh'tet_, who said you could come barging in here? Cleaning was two hours ago! I'll be bringing this up with the super—"

He stopped complaining when he found himself visor-to-visor with another quarian, who leveled a shotgun at his chest. Behind her stood two powerful-looking aliens. Keelah, this couldn't be good.

Ord'Caator swallowed audibly, as a human stepped forward. Its tough, clean-shaven face stared at him expressionlessly as it crossed its arms. Or maybe it was displaying some sort of emotion, but humans all looked the same to him.

"Hello. And your name would be?"

The quarian couldn't seem to find his voice, only glancing frantically about his apartment. Desolate, just as he liked it. Damn. Where in Keelah's name was security?

The other of his race prodded him with her weapon, prompting, "Hey, _bosh'tet_, he's talking to you!"

Ord wasn't used to verbal abuse, and was about to retort in kind, when he remembered his current position. "Y-yes, of course," he stuttered. "Ord'Caator. Businessman. What can I do for you?"

A rather large turian gestured almost imperceptibly with his head, probably suggesting to the human (who Ord figured was the leader) that they should rough him up, or some such violence.

The human shook his head in response, stating instead, bluntly, "Mr. Caator, we know about your contacts. You've got Shadow Broker written all over you."

"That's ridiculous!" insisted the quarian, his voice cracking, but he said it a little too quickly. And the barrel of that shotgun was too close for his liking. All it took was a stern look from the human, and he replied, "Alright! Alright!" It didn't matter. Soon as help got here, they'd all be dead. What harm in buying himself some time?

Backing up slightly, as the others fanned out into the room, the turian checking the adjoining chambers for any company, Ord began to make for the silent alarm he'd installed under a nearby dining table. Just one push, and his people would be there in minutes.

He stalled for time. "No, I'm not the Broker. Hell if I did know who he was. That information would be worth a fortune itself, right?" He spared a weak chuckle. Despite his suit's built-in climate control, he was sweating bullets. "No, I'm a middleman. I arrange for the Broker's people to make contact with customers. Nothing illegal!" He added, as he threw up his hands defensively, but the human paid him no mind, merely watching indifferently. The turian returned from his search, signalling that the place was empty.

_No kidding._ He went on, masking his movements with a cough, "Besides, who wants to know? You're not C-Sec, they can't hack the door. Besides, no one is interested in the boss!"

He spared the human another glance, and this time its ebony armor caught his eye. The small insignia emblazoned on the chest plate made things terrifyingly clear.

"_Cerberus_," he breathed, and the human laughed tersely.

The less the quarian knew the better. "That's right. Cerberus. And we want to know what the Shadow Broker's up to, buying up illegal arms on Noveria."

How the hell did the know _that_? "The boss is always trading, buying and selling. It's just business."

The human's voice grew angry, and he approached the cowering quarian, the female allowing him to pass, but still keeping her weapon at the ready. "He's not selling. From what we figure, your boss is sitting on quite a stockpile of weapons."

Ord swore under his breath, back now to the table. His hand crept for the emergency button. "You have no idea what you're messing with, human. You're all dead, understand? Maybe if you leave now, I'll forget I—"

With lightning-fast reflexes, the human's gauntleted hand struck out, smacking away the quarian's probing fingers. There was a scuffle, as Ord'Caator desperately made for the alarm, but the feel of a cold barrel to the back of his helmet froze him in place.

"Get up," the quarian female spat with disgust, and he was only too happy to comply.

Rising to his feet, he saw that the turian had drawn his weapon, too, a devastating sniper rifle. The human brought himself to Ord's eye-level, and finally the quarian saw the determination there, the relentless desire to get the job done. "You said you're a middleman. You're smart." He smirked. "So set me up with a meeting. I want to talk to the Shadow Broker."

Shaking his head vigorously, the quarian pleaded, "Please! It's not possible! _I_ don't even know who he is! No one does! I- I- I—"

Raising an open palm to interrupt, the human answered, "Fine. Who _can_ you get me in contact with?"

Mind racing, the quarian considered his options. Betray the Broker, risk death. Lie to the human, die right now. Damn. Decisions, decisions.

"Okay," he yielded, and the human appeared to relent slightly, leaning back, ready to listen. "I've got a b-boss, here on the Station. I- I c-could arrange a meeting, you know. He said something about an important job, something the higher-ups were planning. Said it would take a lot of credits, you know? Maybe he can let you in on it!" He grew excited, genuinely pleased to be of assistance, if only to save his life. "Someone is bound to know where to find the Broker! I mean, he's got to be _someone's_ boss, right?" He cast around for support, but only got blank stares in return.

After a moment's silence, the human's face thoughtful, he nodded, and looked Ord'Caator straight in the eyes. "Make the call."

He was only too happy to oblige.

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Docked at Citadel Station, 1946 hours**

Shepard stood on the command deck, having already briefed his team, reading through the datapad they'd recovered from Ord'Caator's higher-up. It hadn't been easy. From the apartment, they'd made their way to the Wards, where a visit to the gentlemen's club known as Chora's Den yielded some very promising leads.

In a backroom, Shepard had been admitted, alone, to join the discussion between a group of Shadow Broker agents: a turian, a batarian, and a volus respectively. The dubious characters had made no sign of surprise at his arrival. No doubt the Shadow Broker worked in such secrecy that none of his deputies knew more than two of each other, and never by name.

By race they called each other, and when Shepard had entered the room, N7 helmet secured over his head to mask his identity, they named him _human_, and bade him to sit.

For hours they had talked, muttering amongst themselves about plans to be laid, shipments of illegal arms, red sand, and other such contraband, any of which would have had a C-Sec officer frothing at the mouth. Shepard wasn't interested in the Broker's shady dealings.

He was interested in the Broker himself.

But he wasn't stupid enough to ask, because it would have aroused suspicion from the others. Besides, none of them would know anyway. So Shepard had listened, and waited, making mental notes of anything that might possibly aid him in his investigation.

_I'm still waiting. Still hunting._

Liara's words echoed through his mind, and Shepard rested his tired head in his hands for a moment. That wasn't the girl he'd met on Therum. She was becoming more like her mother every day. But he could still save her from herself. He just needed that information.

And he'd gotten it! When the meeting had been adjourned, Shepard promising to send a squad of nonexistent mercenaries to pick up some incriminating evidence from the warehouse district (Bailey at C-Sec headquarters had been interested to hear _that_), Shepard had waited until the turian and volus had fled the establishment, before tailing the batarian down several back alleys. The four-eyed, pig-like alien had probably caught on to his second shadow, but Shepard didn't give him the chance to escape. A quick message to Thane and Garrus, and his squad moved in. The batarian didn't stand a chance.

After a brief struggle, Thane had disarmed the mobster, his drell assassin skills coming in quite handy, before Garrus had moved in to interrogate. What they'd learned was promising, but not nearly as much as the datapad the thug had on him. It contained several undeleted messages which, after hacking, pointed to another crime boss called the Admonitor.

"These people never do work with real names, do they?" Shepard became aware, looking up from his hands, that Tali had appeared. The quarian stood at the foot of the command platform, but even from where he stood Shepard couldn't help but realize how much she'd grown. Since they'd first met on the Citadel after he'd saved her life from Fist's gang, he'd always had a soft spot for Tali. She was a good kid.

But those two years had changed everyone. Tali'Zorah nar Rayaa had become Tali'Zorah vas Neema. She'd completed her pilgrimage, become an adult in the eyes of quarian society. He'd never thought to ask her what she'd brought back as a trophy of her coming of age.

Smiling at the familiar purple-hued visor that still managed to retain an expression all its own, Shepard answered, "No, I guess not." He waved her over, and Tali joined him by the railing.

Casting his gaze into the swirling galaxy map, Shepard took in the vast expanse of the Milky Way. It was beautiful, but it provided the Shadow Broker far too many places to run to. Wherever the bastard was hiding, he wouldn't be found without a fight.

Glancing at Shepard, her arms relaxed against the railing for support, Tali said, "Seems to me we just need to find this Admonitor. He'll lead us to his boss, and him to another. It'll take a while, but we can do it."

Sighing, Shepard closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head dejectedly. "It'll take months. Years, even. And if it was this straightforward, why hasn't anyone ever been able to dig this guy up?"

Tali was quiet for a moment, thinking over her answer. Finally, with a sense of optimism in her voice, she replied, "Well, it's not like it's been easy tracking these _bosh'tet _down. And no one's really _tried_, Shepard," she said encouragingly. "And those who have, well, I guess they didn't last long. But look at us! We're the crew of the _Normandy_! And every lowlife this side of Omega knows not to mess with us, right? Saren learned it, the geth learned it, even the Collectors learned it!"

Her bright cheerfulness was contagious. Shepard cracked a weak grin at that, and at the thought that they were, indeed, something of heroes, weren't they? Tali went on. "Now we're gunning for the Shadow Broker, and just between you and me Shepard," she joked, punching him playfully on the shoulder, "I don't like his odds."

Drawing himself upright, Shepard felt his spirits rise. With a look of fondness on his face, he returned the gesture. "Thanks, Tali. What would we do without you?"

"Most likely?" she mocked, "Probably get yourselves killed. Luckily for you, I'm not going anywhere." She said the last part with a strange tone in her voice. Shepard couldn't place it. An awkward silence descended, before Tali mentally shook herself, standing up as well.

"See you around, Shepard," she said, a despondent note now clear in her voice.

He found himself alone once more on the command deck, bathed in the ambient glow of the galaxy map. Trying to forget what had just happened, he began absently cycling through planets, his gaze lingering on Illium, and the personal note he'd left in the database regarding it: _For later._

But how much later? When would this be over, and he and Liara could be together again?

He didn't know the answer, and the database probably wouldn't either, so, consigning himself to be pleased with the day's small victory, he too made his way off the deck, but not before forwarding the Admonitor's coordinates to Joker.

Maybe he'd take a shower, catch some sleep. But first he'd pay a visit to the Crew Deck. Saving the galaxy was hungry work.

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Crew Deck, 1952 hours**

Shepard exited the lift, sealing it behind him, and strolled down the short corridor that led to the mess hall.

Turning a corner, he took a seat at the nearly deserted dining table, beside ex-Cerberus crew members who'd agreed to work under Shepard. Their pay was decent, and the work honest. At least, more honest than it had been with the Illusive Man in charge.

Accepting a tray of rations from Mess Sergeant Gardner (he refused to eat any better than his crew), Shepard set himself to the task of devouring it. He hadn't realized just how starved he was, what with the last few hours' excitement. He was just helping himself to another spoonful of Gardner's surprisingly edible soup when another voice called out to him.

"Shepard Commander?"

He didn't need to look to know who it was, but he did so out of courtesy. "Legion. What can I do for you?"

The geth stood at six feet tall, a metal android constructed to infiltrate any base and track any target. His 'neck' jutted outward from his chassis, terminating in a flashlight-like head, its eye shining a vibrant blue. Legion's voice intoned in a synthesized version of speech, but somehow managed to sound alive. Shepard had to remember that these machines were sentient beings, too.

"Shepard Commander," Legion began again, "We have finished running the calculations relating to the data recovered from Noveria. It seems that the target has sent several million credits to this 'Admonitor' you told us about. Logic dictates this Admonitor receives considerable sums of credits from other such middlemen as the creator you interrogated on the Citadel," he hypothesized, using the geth name for _quarian_. "The name Admonitor, while not an appropriate English synonym to administrator, does possess a certain shared connotation.

"We surmise that our target is an overseer of some kind, directly responsible with the supervision of Shadow Broker agents. If so, it must be very highly ranked." The geth stated all of this in the same monotone voice, but Shepard could somehow hear the life in it.

"Well done." he praised. "Any idea what our chances are of him leading us to the Broker himself?"

"No promises, Shepard Commander," Legion warned, "But we estimate the probability of direct association between the immediate target and the Shadow Broker, based off previous experiences with this organization's operating system, to be at 31,392 to—"

Shepard cut Legion off with an understanding wave of his hand. "On second thought, Legion, maybe I'd rather not know the odds," he joked.

But the humor was lost on the geth. "We do not understand Shepard Commander's unwillingness to know the probability of success. Speculation: perhaps it is an organic trait."

Shaking his head amusedly, Shepard replied, "Thanks for the information, Legion."

"Shepard Commander," Legion stated, in place of a typical goodbye, before clanking off to the AI Core. Probably to run more statistics.

But he was right. The odds were that this would just be another wild varren chase. With that in mind, Shepard quickly downed a glass of juice, before rising to have a word with Garrus at the Main Battery Room.

At the end of the central hallway, Shepard cycled through the door to the chamber, where Garrus operated a console controlling the Main Cannon. The Thanix Cannon was a powerful piece of turian engineering, capable of disabling a Collector ship in two volleys. It had saved their lives on more than one occasion.

The turian had his back to the door, but heard Shepard come in. He nodded professionally, his reptilian face acknowledging the commander's presence through the ocular readout device he'd kept since his C-Sec days.

"Shepard. Good to see you." He wore his heavy turian body armor, painted blue and charred from his brief career as the vigilante Archangel. What a mess that had been. Shepard was impressed that the turian still managed to joke about the ordeal, having lost a good quarter of his face to a gunship missile impact.

"Got any thoughts on the mission?" Shepard asked, taking a seat on one of the ammo crates Garrus kept nearby at all times.

The turian laughed derisively. "Whoever he is, that Admonitor had better hope the humans and asari are right, and there is a god, because no one else is going to show him any mercy. Right Shepard?" He hefted his weapon to illustrate this fact, and Shepard merely shook his head in resignation. Once a vigilante, always a vigilante.

"Any idea what we're going to be up against?"

Garrus shrugged, an action made difficult by his bulky suit. "I try not to plan ahead. Spoils the fun of things. Like I said, I miss the blind optimism of our old missions. Ever since Cerberus got involved," his tone turned slightly more grim here, "Things just haven't been quite the same."

_I hear you there. _Nodding in agreement, Shepard was about to voice a question about the operation of the turian cannon, when Garrus spoke up.

"So… Shepard," he began awkwardly, "There's been some word getting around the ship that you and Tali…" He left the rest to the imagination, snorting with amusement.

Shepard felt his face redden. "There is absolutely nothing going on there!" he exclaimed, adding, "Who the hell told you that, anyway?"

Garrus's turian jaw, evolved to open quite wide, was now thoroughly clamped shut. It didn't matter. Shepard knew a joke when he heard one. Besides, he also knew when it came from Joker. He made a mental note to give the helmsman hell next time he saw him.

"Sorry Shepard," Garrus apologized mock-ruefully. "It's just that things get pretty slow down here on this deck. It's either gossip like a bunch of old asari, or listen to Gardner's _thrilling_ tales of his days in the service." The sarcasm was evident, but it lightened the mood.

Here Garrus turned completely serious. "Besides, we all know about you and…"

This time Shepard didn't get angry. To the contrary, a sort of calm came over him, but it was a melancholy one. "Liara. Yeah, I know."

Sparing Shepard a pitying glance from his work, Garrus said, "Listen, I know that must be difficult for you. Hell, it shocked all of us when we found out what Liara was doing. For you it must be…" He let his words die out. Best not to reopen old wounds.

But Shepard was willing to talk. "Yeah, it's tough. I thought I could just pick up my life where I left it." His eyes grew somewhat distant. "I guess you can't go home again, eh?"

Now Garrus completely turned away from his work, raising his clawed hands to offer condolences. "Hey, you've still got us. Tali and me. And now we've got another crew." He smiled weakly. "It'll be just like old times."

Rising slowly, his brow furrowed in thought, Shepard replied, "Thanks, Garrus, but I don't think things will ever be the same again." Stepping over the threshold to leave, he paused. "I still keep a picture of her. Did I ever tell you that?"

The turian agent didn't know how to respond to that, only stood there feeling distinctly stupid for bringing up the topic to begin with. After a moment of silence, he shut off his console, answering, "Oh hell, let's not let this get us down! How about you and me go dig up Tali from Engineering, and we can have a drink. Talk about the old times. Turian brandy. My treat."

With a grin, Shepard clapped his friend on the shoulder pauldron, following him out of the Battery Chamber. "You seem to forget she can't remove that visor."

"Well she can watch _us_ drink then," he joked. "I sure could use one."

Shepard just laughed. For tonight, maybe he'd be able to put aside his grief over Liara. He wouldn't be able to forget her, oh no, turian brandy couldn't perform miracles, despite the fact that Garrus swore by it. And he wouldn't want to.

But it would be nice to talk to his friends. Garrus was right.

_Just like old times._


	3. Chapter 3

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, en route to Omega Station, Captain's Quarters, 2209 hours**

Shepard chuckled light-headedly, hand shaking slightly as he poured another shot into Garrus's glass, the turian too inebriated to notice that most of the amber fluid had completely missed its mark. Sipping what he had, Garrus shook his head in a mixture of mind-numbing pain and exhilaration, before slamming the sturdy shot glass, upside-down, onto the tabletop in approval. The turian then rested his elongated skull in his claws for a moment, willing the sensation to pass, ultimately flopping face-down on the counter with a final reverberating _thud_.

Shepard retired his glass as well, but with considerably more class. Tali sat across from him, and if he'd been able to see her face, he would have noticed the disapproval there, but also the grudging amusement. Reclining on the couch, the quarian observed her two old friends, a wry smirk on her lips. Noticing that Shepard hadn't drunk nearly as much brandy as the dearly-departed Garrus, Tali decided to make small-talk, before the turian drink finally claimed Shepard, too.

She couldn't drink any of the poison those idiots ingested so readily, but it was still rather relaxing to spend some time with them. Besides, she could adjust the intoxication programming in her suit to compensate. It was a program she'd never experimented with before, but at its current setting, provided a comfortable buzzing in her ears. Why should those two have all the fun? "So Shepard, any reason why Garrus barged into Engineering, told the crew there was an emergency, and hauled me up here without any explanation?" She said it kindly, with a note of ridicule in her voice. As she spoke she laid her helmeted head back in her hands, fingers weaving together to provide support.

The commander's face, previously calm and at peace, grew somewhat uneasy, and he sat forward in his seat. Propping himself up on his elbows, he spoke candidly to Tali. "We just wanted to talk. Think about the old days, and the trouble we got up to." With a sheepish grin that tried to mask his suffering, he went on. "Remember when we got grounded? I've still got the footage of when Anderson socked Udina. Right in his own office, too!" He made a brave effort to appear genuinely happy, sitting somewhat straighter, running a hand over the fresh stubble on his chin. But his eyes, which she had taken to be sleepy and unaware as the three of them had chewed the fat, now were readable.

Tali noticed the haunted look there, but decided not to mention it. "That was something else," she replied, but only halfheartedly. Shepard had her worried. He'd always been so strong, so determined, at least in the old days. Something had changed for him.

Quarians prided themselves on their abilities to sense the intent of others, their emotions. It was far from telepathic, merely a hunch of sorts, but it rarely proved wrong. Sometime during their mission, Tali had felt it. Something had happened to hurt Shepard. He'd come back from the dead, but somewhere along the line, a little part of him had died again.

It had always had her worried, and she'd always tried to be supportive, but things weren't so simple anymore. When they'd first met back on the Citadel, she'd been little more than a child. She'd looked up to Shepard. Idolized him.

But she wasn't a child anymore. In the years since the destruction of the _Normandy_, she'd done a lot of growing up. And she'd realized, when she looked back on all the fond memories of her service aboard the Alliance vessel, that she had feelings for the commander. She'd tried to rationalize it all away, and she'd almost come to terms with what she'd convinced herself was a schoolgirl crush, when he came back into her life. A Shepard back from the dead, a Shepard working for Cerberus, but still the Shepard they'd all loved.

And she realized, then and there, that he was the Shepard that she loved, too.

Which had made things rather difficult when he'd asked her to join him. Of course she couldn't turn him down. Not at the prospect of another adventure. But she knew she wouldn't be able to hide her feelings forever.

She had wanted to help him, to comfort him, but she couldn't trust herself not to reveal her feelings. But now here he was, vulnerable._ Sure,_ she thought to herself. _Shepard, vulnerable. Yeah right._

And yet…

For once in as long as she'd known him, the commander had his guard down. He'd always been a tower of strength, support for others to call on. Now he seemed to need comfort, a shoulder to cry on, so to speak. She was more than willing to provide it.

There was a long silence, save for the distant, peaceful hum of the ship's core, which housed EDI's programming. Shepard said nothing, his expression distant, but over what, Tali did not know. Sitting up, she placed her hands on the table, moving them expressively as she spoke. "You know, you don't look so good. Anything I can do to help?"

Shepard seemed to wake up from his daydreaming, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "Sorry, Tali. Just doing some thinking." She could hear the hollow note in his voice, the suffering. He needed to get something off his chest.

Extending a three-fingered quarian hand, she tenderly rested it on Shepard's. He glanced up in surprise at her, but said nothing. With complete sincerity, she said, "Shepard, if you… need someone, to talk to…" She paused as she tried to find the right words.

"Well… I'm a good listener."

Shepard watched her from across the table, and made no answer, only smiled weakly. For a moment Tali thought she'd said something wrong, and began to withdraw her hand, when Shepard closed his own around it gently. Tali could have sworn she felt her heart rate increase twofold.

"Thanks, Tali. You're a great friend." Her heart dropped at the word _friend_, but she wouldn't shun him now. He meant more to her than that.

"It's just…" He cast a glance over his shoulder, at the desk where his private terminal was housed, among other things. Shepard did this only for a moment, before tearing his eyes away, and releasing Tali's hand. He said, with a calm passing over his face, "I'm just very, very tired. That's all. Nothing to worry about."

Tali caught him at the lie, but made no comment, only nodded understandingly. This seemed to be the signal Shepard was waiting for, as he promptly closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. When he finally did drift to sleep, it was with a smile on his face.

She sat there for a moment, brow furrowed in deep thought. _Poor Shepard. Whatever's eating him, it can't be good. _Rising, she moved over to his footlocker, removing two comfortable blankets from the storage bin. Making her way back over to the others, she unfolded a blanket, draping it over Garrus's shoulders warmly, before cloaking Shepard in the second. Stopping to dial down her recreational programming (It wouldn't do to report back to Engineering half-intoxicated), something struck her as odd.

Why had Shepard glanced at his desk of all things? What had interested him?

Stealing a furtive look at the private area, Tali stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. Leave now, and let Shepard keep his secrets? Or look into this, maybe help him out?

She wrung her hands for a moment in indecision, before finally coming to a conclusion. _If Shepard wanted to help me, he wouldn't let a bit of snooping stop him._

Striding over to the workstation, she casually perused through several datapads, finding nothing of interest there. A brief glance at the collection of model ships Shepard possessed, and a precursory scanning of his inbox left her no clues. After discarding these messages, she picked up a hefty volume from the set of books Shepard had on hand. Her fingers, used to handling technology and weaponry, couldn't get a firm grip on the cumbersome device, and she dropped it rather unceremoniously, eliciting a loud _bang!_

With a quiet curse of, "_Bosh'tet!_" she quickly recovered the item, but both sleeping males remained inert. Garrus snored loudly. With a sigh of relief, she replaced the book on the shelf. Tali took note of the small, furry rodent Shepard kept, some earth-creature called a hamster, before deciding whatever was troubling the commander wasn't his pet gerbil.

She was about to give up the search when something caught her eye. There, by the terminal, a flat black box lay, what she had previously mistaken for another of those books. But this one was far too thin. Grasping its edges clumsily, she picked it up, only to realize it was a holo. The photograph was powered down at the moment, but it flickered on at her touch.

A young, vibrant asari smiled at her through the picture, and Tali recognized her immediately. Liara T'soni.

Shepard kept a picture of Liara? But why? The information broker had been a part of their team, once. She'd been one of their close-knit family back in the 'good old days' Garrus reminisced about so much. Tali had grown quite fond of the asari, seeing in her something of a sister. They were both about the same age, by their species' respective lifespans, Liara a little older. Tali had never really thought that much of it…

Then it hit her. _Oh! Oh, _Keelah_, how could I be so stupid?! _This was it. The reason Shepard was so depressed! She'd been too young to realize it at the time, but now the offhand comments she'd heard between Garrus and Wrex made perfect sense, in a disgusting, immature sort of way.

_She is Shepard's… mate?_

Her head began to spin slightly, and she put a hand to her visored forehead to steady herself. _How foolish of me! He's… lovesick. _Tali hadn't accompanied Shepard when he'd visited Liara on Illium. She hadn't witnessed their reunion. Of course things must have been difficult! Two years had passed, everyone thinking he was dead! And then he'd gone back to see his mate, only to discover that the circumstances had changed too much.

Tali knew that Liara had gotten herself into some dark business, but had never thought that the sweet asari that she'd known could have done anything really… _bad_.

She'd thought that Liara would have jumped at the chance to rejoin the crew of the _Normandy_, but now it all was perfectly clear. She had moved on. They all had.

_And it broke Shepard's heart._

It broke hers, too. Not because Liara had refused Shepard, but because Shepard was still, obviously, very much in love. He was a romantic person. It was part of his personality, part of his charm. It was what made people follow him, listen to him.

It had made her love him.

She could only imagine that was what had brought Shepard and Liara together.

_How did I think there could be anything between us? _Tali mourned, setting the holo down where she had found it.

Tali made for the entry hatch, before casting a final glance at the sleeping Shepard. How peaceful he looked. Her heart went out to him, but there was nothing she could do. There was no cure for a broken heart…

But maybe…

An idea was born in her mind, and she felt a sense of elation spread through her. Racing through the door, she punched the button for Engineering at the elevator, and stood impatiently as the lift hummed along.

She might not be able to have Shepard's love, another had already claimed it, but she could still help him. It was her duty. No matter who the commander cherished, she would always adore him. Which was why she would do anything to secure his happiness.

The doors parted, and she rushed to her terminal. The place was empty, everyone else having gone to bed. She would too, soon, but first she had a job to do. Opening the messages inbox, she selected the option to compose a new message, and hastily began typing.

It was time she and Liara had a few words.

*****

**Crescent Nebula, Tasale System, Planet Illium, Nos Astra, 2354 hours**

The city thrived, defiant of the night.

The ambient glow of Nos Astra could be seen from orbit, a neon blur, a star upon the surface of the garden world. The sun had set hours ago, and yet the night life was in full-swing, Nos Astra's millions of residents emerging at last to savor the many rewards the darkness had to offer.

In an office overlooking the main trading floor of Nos Astra, a young asari sat alone, bathed in shadows. The ghostly illumination of her private terminal was the room's sole source of light. It brought her pretty features into relief, but they were downcast. Her eyes gazed, hard, cold, unfeeling, at the information brought up on the screen; her lips, once always ready to offer a warm smile and a comforting word, were curved into an angry frown. Her soul was hidden, buried beneath a mask of hate and fear.

Liara T'soni waved a hand elegantly, deleting the entry, a sneer of disgust on her face as yet another lead failed her. Rising with the graceful decorum customary of her office, she glided across the room swiftly, pouring a cup of frigid coffee for herself. She wrapped her thin fingers about it, as if there was warmth there.

So strange. Her office (state-of-the-art, since no self-respecting information broker would allow a shabby workplace to tarnish their image) came equipped with personalized atmospheric control, capable of maintaining a comfortable temperature at all times, and yet it did nothing for her. Everything always felt so cold.

How long had it been, she wondered, raising her eyes to stare at the stunning cityscape beyond her window, since she had embraced her lover? How long since she had kissed him? She longed for his touch, his voice, his whisper in her ears.

Months. Not so long as it felt, but even that single instant, in which she had forgotten all her problems, all her worries, and simply held him close, had meant so much to her. That kiss had been her freedom.

For a moment.

But there was always the guilt. Guilt at loosing him with the _Normandy_, over two years ago. Guilt at what she had done to recover his body, the people she had killed. Guilt at striking a deal with the devil, who promised her a chance to see her love once more. It had hardened her heart, made it as ice. Liara felt she would never be able to look him in the eyes again.

She had given his corpse to Cerberus. She had feared the worst, that they would fail, her efforts would be in vain, the sacrifice she and her friends had made would be for nothing.

But she feared even more the thought that they would succeed. If Shepard returned to her, alive, the man she had known, loved, would she be able to face him? Could she see her Shepard, back from the dead, with a heart full of love to give, and refuse him?

She'd had no other choice. When he'd kissed her, it had been an escape. She was a young, naïve archaeologist again, swept up by a dashing commander and taken across the stars, with only their love to sustain them, to hell with the galaxy.

All it had taken was a glimpse into the warmth of his eyes, and her heart had thawed.

Liara feared he would hate her, lived in terror that he would discover the deal she had made, that it was _she _who had given him up to Cerberus, for her own selfish love.

But he still loved her. Embraced her. He never condemned her in the face of her revelation, only longed for her to run away with him again. Her heart had leaped at the thought, the prospect of returning to those long-forgotten adventuring days, but it was crushed by the cruel grip of reality. There was no escape. She had fallen. She was lost.

She had earned a reputation here on Illium. Liara T'soni, a name once synonymous with innocence, kindness, and love, was now associated with crime, fear, and corruption. In two years, nothing by asari standards, she had changed. For the worse.

The feeling was there, still. He would never stop loving her, she knew. And she would never stop dreaming of him. But did she deserve such adoration? Maybe her old self, the one that had died that day on the _Normandy_. But now…?

She was respected and feared for her ruthlessness, her pragmatism, her vicious tenacity and her brutality. It was a welcome image, on Illium, where such things meant power. But it was also an act. All an act. For all of her power, all of her infamy, she was still the frightened girl on Therum, who had found safety in the arms of a young Spectre.

There were days when her resolve wavered, when her quest for the Shadow Broker seemed at its most bleak, and on these days she would close her office, retreat to her apartment, and lie alone in the darkness. She had to be strong. Weakness would get her killed. There were debts to collect, promises to make good on, threats to carry out.

And how she hated all of it! This was not her world. This was not where she belonged. She longed for the wide open skies of an uncharted world, the mystery and intrigue of discovery, the paradise of isolation, save for the company of her mate.

These dreams gave her strength, gave her the will to get up again, and continue with the charade. It was all a means to an end. Shepard would never have peace until the Shadow Broker was dead, and so she would never find it, either. They couldn't be truly happy together, not with such a threat looming over them.

The Broker had to die.

And so as she gazed at the bright lights beyond her little fishbowl of a world, lights that outshone the innumerable stars above, she saw only his face, the affection in his eyes, the question at his lips.

_Will you come with me?_

She could smile on evenings such as these, put aside the broker and become the woman once again. Her mask would crumble, and true happiness would break through her grim stare. The youth and the joy that was there would shine through, brighter than any star on Illium or in its skies. Liara T'soni was far from dead…

Just in hiding.

The moment passed. She was aware once more of the dark confines of her office, her prison. That desk that kept her chained to this world imprisoned her again, as she continued her work, searching, searching.

An hour or so passed, when the weariness that constantly wore at her finally seemed unbearable. Vengeance would have to wait. She would sleep, rest, dream.

Dream of _him_.

For in her dreams she could relive that night before Ilos, in the calm before the storm.

Deep down, she was herself. Scared, confused, unsure. But there was work to do. Enemies that never slept. There was no time to rest, to let down her guard. Liara would have to wait for her freedom.

She had just resigned herself to the thought of another sleepless night wasted, when her terminal chimed once. A new message had arrived.

Curious. Yes, she had instructed her contacts to keep her informed at all hours of the day and night, but her mercenaries usually called her directly. She couldn't carry her terminal with her, after all.

Opening the messaging function, she discovered, to her great alarm, that the message had been sent from the SSV _Normandy_. Of course, she knew the name. And what it meant. Shepard wanted to talk to her? How she had longed for such a message, any word from her love, but she had never been able to bring herself to initiate contact. So much pain. Why reopen old wounds?

But her heart leaped once more, regardless, blindly joyful, testament to the Liara that lived within, and she eagerly accepted the incoming message.

It read: _Liara? I hope this is you. Shepard keeps the address on his terminal, but I can't be too careful._

The joy was gone. This wasn't Shepard? Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Who was wasting her time?

_It's Tali'Zorah. Remember? We served together on the _Normandy_ two years ago. It's been a while, but if it is you, it would be nice to hear from you again._

Liara felt a pang of embarrassment that she had grown so arrogant. It was an old friend. Tali. And she hadn't cared, just out of anger that it wasn't Shepard. She calmed herself, remembering the young quarian who had fought side-by-side with the rest of the _Normandy _crew against Saren. Liara recalled those days with a warm smile.

_I know you probably didn't expect to hear from me, but I've got something important to talk about. It's about Shepard._

Liara felt ice-water shoot through her veins. She was instantly awake, fully aware. Her limbs flushed with biotic power. What had happened to her Shepard?

_What has happened to my love?_

The letter went on. _Things aren't going well. We're… well, we're on a mission. No surprise there, but Shepard isn't quite himself. He's been depressed, or something. I don't know. All I know is, it's about you._

_He can't stop thinking about you, I'm sure. Garrus tried to cheer him up, but it's not working. I found a picture he's keeping of you, and I sort of pieced things together._

Liara's mouth parted slightly, dumbstruck. Shepard kept a picture of her? She shut her eyes for a moment, feeling the hot tears building. Her shoulders shook with relief. He really did love her. It warmed her heart to know he was still thinking of her. She had never stopped thinking of him. For an instant she was vulnerable. For an instant she was Liara.

She blinked the tears away, reading on. _I'm not the best at relationships, but I'm not stupid. He misses you. A lot. He's trying to keep himself wrapped up in work. The whole crew's noticed. He won't sleep, he barely eats. Something needs to be done, Liara._

_I… I care too much about Shepard to see him suffer like this._

The asari felt a strange sensation grip her, a tight, strangling feeling in her chest. It was jealousy. What was Tali saying?

_Please, for him, you need to do something. Drop him a line, I don't know. Anything to snap him out of it. I was too young to notice how much he loved you back then, but now I can tell. It's eating him up. I'm a little embarrassed to ask Shepard about it myself, and Garrus won't explain it to me, I'm sure, but I know you love him, too._

Liara felt the tension ease. Tali couldn't have been more right. Placing a slender hand to her forehead to ease the pain of an impending headache, she read on.

_Just send him a message. A video. Anything. We have a FTL Comm System here. It's supposed to be for official Cerberus conferences, but I'm sure I can convince EDI to allow you through. I'll send you the address with this message._

She smiled. Tali was a sweet girl, and very smart. Liara knew Shepard was in good company. And she was right. Maybe she could take an hour out of her day, just… talk to Shepard. That would feel good. The idea had always seemed too risky, too out of reach, but now…

Now she just wanted to see her Shepard again.

_Well, thanks for listening. It's a secure channel on our end, but you'll have to be careful on yours, if you're worried about eavesdroppers. I hope this reaches you alright. You always were very kind to me, Liara. I hope the years have been just as good to you._

The message ended, but attached was a brief postscript.

_Ah, I know the commander probably wouldn't want me telling you this, but I think it's important. We're on a mission. I can't say to where, but let me just say that we're after a… mutual acquaintance of ours. Shepard can tell you more._

No… Shepard was after _him_?

_By the Goddess! He could get himself killed! I-_ She calmed her thoughts, steadied her breathing, and made up her mind._ I need to talk to him. Soon._

_Tonight._

She quickly scanned the remainder of the message. _Oh, by the way, don't tell Shepard who sent you this. He wouldn't get mad, I hope, but better safe than sorry. Keelah se'lai, Liara. Stay safe._

Liara sat for a moment, shocked, but her amazement at the unexplained contact and her fear for Shepard were overwhelmed for a moment by a rush of gratitude for the quarian girl. It felt good to know that someone was looking out for her Shepard.

Rising, she downloaded the data to her omni-tool, before erasing the local copy. All seemliness forgotten, she rushed from her office, eager to return to her apartment. She wanted to write a reply to Tali first, thank her for everything.

She knew in her heart that this wouldn't change things. The Shadow Broker still had to be brought down, but now that Shepard was on his trail, they might just have a chance of cornering him.

But first she had to talk to him. Somewhere safe. Because even though she had embraced him, kissed him, upon his return to life, she had never told him, simply and honestly, the truth. That she loved him. She couldn't live without him.

She'd make damn well sure she didn't make the same mistake twice.

Rushing to her private speeder across the nighttime compound, her belongings packed under one arm, Liara failed to notice the shady figure standing idle in the crowd. In her rush to finally speak with her Shepard, all pretense of nobility forgotten, feeling more alive than she had felt in months, the asari flew off into the skylanes, oblivious, for once in her life.

She didn't spot the blacked-out vehicle that tailed her all the way home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik, SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, docked at Omega Station, Combat Information Center, 0431 hours**

Shepard stood in the bridge, just behind the seat of Alliance Flight Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau. The young, talented helmsman carefully navigated the frigate through Omega airspace, weaving effortlessly between control towers and the large, spinelike mass effect field generators that jutted out from the asteroid's hulk that gave Omega its distinct jellyfish appearance. The station glowed with the ominous red light produced by these generators, hovering in space. The mass effect kept nearby asteroids from colliding with the station, as well as maintained its carefully charted orbit around the system's sun.

Joker eased off on the controls as the _Normandy_ arrived at its designated docking port, slapping the control surface fondly as the ship settled into its housing. "Just like the old _Normandy_. Better, in fact, less risk of engine overheat," he lectured to no one in particular, still smiling in a self-congratulatory manner.

Crossing his arms, with an arrogant tilt to his head, he spun his pilot's chair one hundred eighty degrees, turning to face the commander. "Any reason why we're coming back to this piece of space junk, or do you just miss the nightclubs?" Joker smarmed, a wiseacre grin breaking out across his unshaven face.

Shepard shook his head, replying, "Just wanted to make sure everything's going okay up here. Besides," he quipped, turning to leave, "I sure as hell didn't come to look at your ugly mug."

With a clap on the shoulder and a laugh, Shepard left Joker in peace. The Alliance pilot spent several moments impersonating Shepard in a high-pitched voice, before returning to his controls with a smile. Whatever the Alliance and the Council thought of the commander, he was all right in his book.

Shepard made his way back down the bridge corridor, entering the Combat Information Center. The CIC was alive with activity, as crewmen scurried to their stations, each performing separate vital duties. The galaxy map shone impressively as the command center's crown jewel, and around it his team had gathered.

Thane readied his weapons of choice: a discreet, concealable pistol and a combat knife. The drell worked dilligently, checking his weapons for any deformity before deciding they were fit for action. Tucking both into the recesses of his overcoat, he spared Shepard a curt nod.

Legion and Tali worked simultaneously at a nearby terminal, reviewing the data the geth had amassed in preparation for the mission. Vital statistics, raw data, and mission parameters scrolled across the screen. Far too quickly for Shepard to understand, but the duo seemed satisfied, and the commander smiled warmly. They were getting along much better than anyone (especially themselves) had expected. Her work done, Tali rose and, seeming to debate with herself for a moment, awarded Legion with a friendly ruffling of its head-flaps, although the gesture merely confused the geth construct.

Garrus stood with Mordin, hurriedly scoffing a painkiller the salarian doctor had made up for the turian's splitting migraine. With a groan of misery, Garrus rubbed his temples, praying for an end to his agonizing hangover. That or a quick death. Either one would do. Turian brandy never sat well with him, but Garrus never seemed to trust his better judgement when around alcohol. Shepard was still coming off the aftereffects of their drinking session, but Garrus had it bad.

Having done all he could for the half-dead turian, Mordin redirected his attention to Shepard as the commander drew near. "Ah, commander. Very good to see you. Garrus is ill. Too much brandy. Never understood human and turian concept of stress-relieving self-poisoning." A wicked smile split his thin lips. "Doesn't matter. Not my problem. Have given him some medication. Strong stuff."

Shepard arched his eyebrows at Garrus, grinning smugly, "Didn't think you couldn't hold your liquor, Garrus." The turian managed to access his higher brain functions long enough to string together a rudimentary list of curses, before helping himself to a nearby workstation's chair. The crewman had only a few seconds warning to abandon his station before three hundred pounds of turian muscle and armor crashed into the seat.

Garrus moaning loudly, Shepard just shook his head. "Thanks, Mordin. Will he be ready for the mission?"

The salarian scoffed, as if offended that Shepard was questioning his skill. "Painkiller also powerful anesthetic. Should leave him feeling relaxed and sentimental."

Shepard spared Garrus a quick glance. The turian was now emitting a rather disturbing gargling sound reminiscent of an elcor mating call. "How powerful?"

"Enough to make a krogan miss its mother," Mordin happily informed him. "Should be fine in half an hour. Should avoid watching any soap operas for at least twelve. Nothing too tear-jerking. A turian sobbing," he shuddered expressively. "Not pretty."

Leaving Mordin to his little experiment and Garrus to his misery, Shepard spoke to open air. "EDI?"

"Yes, Shepard?" the AI answered, her voice emanating from no particular direction, but rather from all around.

"The information pointed to the Omega sublevels. Can we access them easily enough from the docks?"

EDI's response was instantaneous. Multiple holographic images of Omega's schematics replaced the galaxy map, flashing through several architectural plans in rapid succession, the strobing effect doing nothing for Garrus's headache.

"I have registered multiple routes to the sublevels of the station," EDI informed him. "Several routes pass through known Blue Suns Territory," the AI warned, knowing full-well what the mercenary group was capable of. "I would recommend using the engineering ducts, instead. They pass through the central column _here_." She illustrated the stemlike protrusion branching off from the nucleus of the station.

"My readings indicate that the atmospheric conditions beyond the residential sections are compromised. Maintenance teams employed to repair the mass effect stabilizers wear vacuum suits to navigate the region."

Thane's brow furrowed in thought, he gestured at the section of the station where the stem terminated. "The Admonitor obviously wants to remain hidden, out of the public eye. The engineering areas seem a likely choice to avoid scrutiny, but I am doubtful that he is living in hard vacuum at all hours."

"EDI?" Shepard asked, "Can you give us a reading on the atmosphere of this region?" He indicated the area Thane had suggested.

"Negative, Shepard," EDI replied. "Mass effect fields are incredibly powerful in the area, since it is where the energy generated by the station is focused. It is unlikely that a permanent residence could be maintained in such conditions, since it is safe to assume that the zero-atmosphere conditions continue on throughout the central shaft."

Thane wouldn't be dissuaded. "Safe to assume, yes, but you say your readings black out near the tip?"

A moment's silence. Shepard could have sworn EDI spoke grudgingly, angered by her uncertainty. "Yes."

Facing Shepard, the drell's black eyes bored into his own. "Perhaps there is atmosphere there, after all. Running on a system separate to the life support of the station. He wouldn't want to be detected by rudimentary scanners such as ours," he began.

"I do not appreciate that!" EDI piped up, but Thane paid her no heed.

"He could be relying on the mass effect field to ensure that no one stumbles across his personal atmosphere. And the energy levels prevent ships' signatures from being detected. He could have private shuttles flying in and out at all hours, and no one would be the wiser."

"Shepard," EDI chipped in, "It is more likely that our target is living in the upper sublevels. I am detecting a sustainabe atmosphere, as well as life readings."

The commander crossed his arms behind his back, thinking. "Those are engineers, station employees. We know that for sure. The Admonitor wouldn't want to rely on crowds to hide himself. He's with the Shadow Broker. He'd rather have no one know he's there."

Tali approached the group. "Then why not hide out on another asteroid?"

"Other asteroids unstable. Too dangerous," Mordin observed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Omega offers safety, protection, stability. Why risk uncertainty, when one can use one's resources?"

Garrus seemed to awaken from his personal coma for a moment. "If you're all so determined to deny me any rest," he began, "I might as well help." He did not shift from his sprawled position, rather spoke to the ceiling. "On my homeworld, there's a native parasite. A thrawl. Nasty little bugger. They latch onto the host's body, lie in wait. They draw blood and hitch a free ride. The host never even knows its there." Blindly gesturing with his claw, he concluded, "This Admonitor? Same deal. Uses the station's mass effect fields to keep himself safe, and mask his presence. A parasite."

EDI refused to abandon her theory. "Shepard, this hypothesis is shaky at best. Mass effect fields are dangerous, and radioactive in such high concentrations. If you're wrong, and there is no installation, there won't be anything to shield you from those rays."

Shepard weighed his options carefully before making a decision. "We can't waste time searching the upper levels," he stated. "If we search the far end, and find nothing—"

"While avoiding being cooked in our skins by the radiation," Garrus noted mock-cheerfully.

"Then we'll at least have narrowed down our search. Come on, team. Suit up. We're heading to the far installation."

They were already waiting at the airlock.

**Crescent Nebula, Tasale System, Planet Illium, Nos Astra, 0456 hours**

Liara entered her apartment, sealing the entryway behind her against the unending hum of Illium's nocturnal world.

Everything was dark. Making her way through the foyer, she flitted between shadows, at one moment illuminated by the bright lights beyond her windows, at others concealed in the shade.

The shutters were open, their silhouettes cast on the far wall, like bars upon a cell door. Liara paused at one of these shutters, peeking through the blinds. Nothing to see but the landing pad for her apartment structure. Deserted, save for half a dozen speeders parked, vacant.

Funny. She could have sworn she'd seen something down there…

Something in the dark.

It didn't matter. She had no time to waste. Placing her belongings on a cluttered tabletop, she moved to turn on the lights, but thought better of it. She'd grown to appreciate the night in recent months.

It was a tastefully furnished apartment, if rather bare. She'd never been one for luxuries, a trait bred into her by fifty years of working a digsite on Therum. There hadn't been funding enough for the finer points in life, so Liara had grown accustomed to living in rather spartan accomodations. She recalled those days with a weak smile. How young she'd been. So defiant of her mother's will, so bent on making a name for herself, for exploring. Benezia had called her rash, a rebel, had said that it was merely the Maiden stage of her life that made her so restless.

But that had turned out for the best. Matriarch Benezia had fallen, corrupted by Sovereign's sinister indoctrination. And it had been her mother's role in Saren's plot that had brought Shepard looking for her.

It was with sadness in her heart that she realized that had not been so long ago as it felt. So strange, that she could spend half a century dusting off Prothean relics, and yet feel that two years on Illium were so much longer. So many sleepless nights.

Sighing, she weaved her way through the living room in the near-total darkness, memory serving to help her avoid any obstacles in her path.

Exiting the room, she pushed open a door with a single hand, crossing the soft carpeting without so much as a sound.

Entering her bedchamber, she kicked off her shoes. They were simple things, but elegant nonetheless. She didn't bother to put them away.

The drapes had been drawn shut here, but the phantom glow of her private terminal at her bedside served to bring some light to her quarters.

A comfortable bed rested against the far wall, unmade. Several changes of clothing rested on a solitary chair by the washroom entrance, and her closet stood open, the remainder of her clean wardrobe pressed and folded in its place.

An impersonal room, to be sure. But she'd added a woman's touch here and there. Holos sat on her nightstand, pictures of the important people in her life. Benezia, her mother. That one had been taken a little before she ran off for Therum. She'd never gotten rid of it. The crew of the _Normandy_ smiled up at her, one happy family. She could see herself, standing beside Shepard, while Garrus and Tali played an innocent prank on Pressly. Liara felt a twinge of sorrow. That shot had been taken a week after the Battle of the Citadel.

So many of them were dead, now.

And a single picture of Shepard stood there, a quirky smile at his lips.

Some Prejak Paddle fish swam awkwardly in their tank, their colorful blue hue reminiscent of the typical asari skintone. By the light of the fishtank, she examined her own skin. Soft, and unblemished, true, but years out of the sun, living in the perpetual night of her office, had faded it to a pale lavender.

For a moment she stood there, musing over this, before mentally shaking herself. _You didn't come here to fret over your work habits, Liara._

A moment's silence, then, as she visibly winced, _And you're talking to yourself._

_Brilliant._

Running her hands through her head fringe, she ordered her thoughts. She had to send Tali a reply, thank her for her considerate message. Yes, that would be best.

Making her way to her bed in her bare feet, Liara decided not to waste time changing into her fatigues, and rather focus on her work. Resting herself against her pillows, she felt the tension throughout her body ease slightly, but it never went away. Years of anger and fear had left her constantly on edge.

Relaxing her shoulders, she placed her personal terminal upon her lap, and began to type.

_Tali'Zorah,_

_It's been too long. I hope this letter finds you well, and I offer you my_—

She stopped writing, disgusted with herself. _No. This won't work. This is Tali I'm talking to! She's an old friend. For the Goddess's sake, can't I stop being an information broker and just be… me?_

Breathing deeply, she further relaxed her tired frame, and felt a gratifying wave of calm wash over her. After a moment's meditation, she opened her eyes, and tried again.

_Tali,_

_I'm very happy to hear from you. It's been a long time, hasn't it? Goddess knows I've missed you. How are things going for you? It's been two years now. Did you complete your Pilgrimage? I can't believe it, you must have grown so much!_

A faint smile tweaked the corners of her mouth. _Is this what it feels like?_ she wondered to herself, gazing up at the ceiling for a moment, watching the light from the tank dance across it hypnotically. She'd never really had any friends in her youth, isolated from the other asari children by her status as a matriarch's daughter. When she'd come of age, other girls had dreamed of joining Eclipse, living a life of adventure. She'd been scared to death by the very idea.

Her mother had wanted her to study to be a councilor, a politician, but that apalled her even more. No, she'd always been fascinated by her school trips to the museums on the Citadel, had sat for hours and poured over the relics, the artwork. So alien… So beautiful.

So when things between Liara and her mother grew… stressed, she'd set out to do what she'd always wanted. Studying to become an archaeologist, she took the first job she'd been offered, and to Therum she went.

All-in-all, she'd never really taken time out of her life to make friends with the other girls. She'd never really thought about it, what she might have been missing. Even on the _Normandy_, she'd always felt alienated from the crew, even her fellow nonhumans, because of her lineage.

Things had just gotten worse when Liara realized her infatuation with Shepard brought her into direct competition with Chief Williams. The human female was a tough character, and Liara's attempts at striking up a friendship with her had been met with open hostility.

Tali had always been pleasant to her, as had Navigator Pressly. _Honestly,_ she thought to herself, _That man was so sweet._ He had always pretended he was a gruff, uncaring being, but Liara knew he'd had a soft heart. She'd even heard him one day, passing his room, making an entry into his journal. He'd said that he would give his life for any member of the crew, regardless of what planet they called home.

Shepard really did bring out the best in people.

And now here she was, talking to Tali again. It felt good to have a fellow female to chat with, something she'd never quite understood when others had spoken of it in the past. Liara quietly mourned the fact that she and Ashley had never been friends. Williams was a headstrong woman, and she'd taken an instant dislike to Liara once the asari had threatened her potential relationship with Shepard. Jealous things, humans.

_But are we so different?_ Liara still remembered, with shame, the feeling of contempt she'd experienced when Tali had voiced her worries about Shepard in her message.

_I guess it doesn't matter what species we are. We all hate the thought of losing our man._

Awakening from her absent-mindedness, she continued to write. _I'm grateful that you decided to tell me this, Tali. Shepard… he means everything to me. I know it sounds stupid, but he's the first being I've loved…_ She grew uncomfortable, but decided to be open with her friend. _Well, ever. It hurts me to think of losing him. I've already lost him once before._

_My mission is difficult, but it is nothing compared to the sacrifice I had to make when I decided not to join Shepard again. Things have just gotten so complicated, and I…_

She changed the subject. _I hope things are going better for you, that's all. Whatever Shepard is doing, I know it's for the good of the galaxy. I only wish I could come with him. I really, really do._

_You say he's not doing well? I only hope he isn't blaming himself for this. It's my fault. Everything. I did some things I'm not very proud of, but I know him. He thinks me not rushing into his arms is a sign that I've moved on._

_I haven't. There was nothing more I wanted than to hold him, to tell him I love him. But Illium is a dangerous place. There was no time for it._

_But you've given me another chance, Tali. I'm going to contact Shepard right now, and I'm going to tell him that I do love him._ She felt her chest swell with pride and determination. Yes, that's what she would do.

_You have no idea what you've done for him. For us. I can never thank you enough. Maybe when this is all over… maybe then I'll come back, if he'll have me._

The thought that her Shepard would refuse her chilled her heart, but she put it aside. No, Tali said he still thought of her. The Goddess knew she still thought of him.

_Thank you, Tali. I love him too much to lose him._

Tapping the SEND button, the terminal dinged once to acknowledge the outgoing transmission, and Liara powered down the device. She would have no interruptions when she called Shepard.

Rising, she made for the holographic communications device she'd paid to have installed. They were uncommon things in apartments, but for an information broker, essential. It had cost her dearly, but she had credits. It was a dirty job, but it paid well.

Liara had been just about to power up the holographic pedestal, when she became painfully aware of her appearance. Experiencing a very uncharacteristic sense of shame at her looks, she rushed to the washroom, and spent several minutes preparing herself. Days of work without rest had left her appearance a little dishelved.

Futilely attempting to straighten the creases in her robe, she muttered a curse before swiftly changing into something nicer. Shepard was probably tired of seeing her dressed so formally, anyway. He'd alerady expressed his distaste over her new occupation. No need to remind him during what was supposed to be an intimate conversation.

Donning something a little nicer, a pleasant, simple evening gown, Liara spent several more moments running a moisturizer through her scalp.

A woman could treat herself, once in a while, right?

Glancing into the mirror, Liara saw less of the information broker and more of the woman who had been hiding for so long. Her eyes still seemed tired beyond their years, and her skin still shone palely, but she seemed more like the Liara Shepard would recognize.

The Liara he still loved.

Satisfied with her appearance, she exited the room, and approached the device. Activating it, she entered the string of numbers to call the secure address.

The holographic plate embedded in the floor hummed audibly, shimmering about the edges as a picture resolved itself, floating ghostlike over the scene.

An orblike, purple image dominated the room, a necklike aperture branching out from it. White lines waved across its surface, moving very much like a mouth.

"This is EDI," the AI answered. "This is a personal channel. Who is this?" she asked bluntly.

Liara was taken aback by the personality Shepard's answering machine displayed. "My name is Liara," she replied warily. "Liara T'soni. Tali told me to call."

EDI was mute for a moment, answering, "Yes, Tali'Zorah left explicit instructions regarding you. She's not Cerberus personnel, but she has direct access to my maintenance core, so I suppose she's in charge," the AI smarmed. "What is the purpose of this call?"

Liara spoke up with confidence. "I want to talk to Shepard, please." Excitement surged through her body, each nerve in her highly evolved nervous system sparking with anticipation.

"I am sorry, but the commander is out."

Liara felt her heart plummet. "What? Where is he?" she inquired, with more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"That information is confidential, I'm afraid." The machine seemed to be enjoying snubbing her. "I can put you through to Flight Lieutenant Moreau, if you like."

_Oh Goddess no!_ she thought with alarm. There was no way she'd leave word of her feelings for Shepard with that juvenile. "I'd rather not," she replied tactfully. "Can you take a message?"

EDI hovered imperiously over her, like some great purple gas giant. Finally, she spoke. "Fine," she conceded with noticible scorn . Liara was certain that if the program had eyes, it would have rolled them.

Liara waited a moment to speak, as EDI triggered the messaging system to record the asari.

Standing tall, she smiled into the holographic display, now recording her live. "Shepard, it's Liara." _No, really? Get it together!_ "I… I hope you get this alright." She bit her lip as she searched for words. Damn. She'd never really thought about what she'd say. She could threaten any client here on Illium, bully any merc with her biotic powers, but here she was, talking to an answering machine, at a loss for words.

"Erm… I would really like to talk to you. Soon." She felt her heart rate quicken, and she plucked up her courage.

"Shepard, I just want you to know something. Something I should have told you when you came back to me. Goddess," she mourned, glancing down, "I was so _stupid!_"

Raising her gaze to eye level once again, she smiled, embarrassed at first, but with growing affection. "I love you. You mean everything to me. Please, forgive me. I should have told you sooner. Call me, any time you can. I need to see you again."

Feeling her spirits fall as she averted her eyes, she finished, "Goodbye."

The machine died down, Liara terminating the transmission. For a moment she stood there, dejected. She could only hope that was enough to show him how she felt. She would do more when he called her back.

Resigning herself to her fate, she turned away from the podium, and was considering turning in for the night, when a voice spoke to her, out of the shadows.

"Touching."

Instantly she spun around, all weakness gone, instincts kicking in. Anger coursed through her veins, the same anger that drove her every day to kill the Shadow Broker. Anger that rolled in, like thunderclouds gathering before a storm. Fists clenching, biotic energy swirled about her as she cast her eyes about the room, searching for the intruder.

She didn't have to look. From the shadow of her bedroom door, a figure emerged. A young drell. His unfeeling black eyes blinked once, a nictating membrane sliding over them as he smirked at her. "Very touching," he repeated, a note of ridicule in his voice.

Liara didn't wait for introductions. Hurling a biotic field at the trespasser, Liara screamed in anger, "Damn you!"

He dodged the blast deftly, the energy smashing into the wall behind him, which crumbled like tin under the blast.

"Wait!" he cried, avoiding a vicious swipe by her biotic fists. The front of his shirt was singed by the energy as he leapt back. "Calm down!"

Liara would have none of it. Her rage gripped her, fury at this insolent boy for hearing her confession, for mocking her love.

And anger at herself for allowing this stranger to sneak in so easily. She'd let her guard down.

It wouldn't happen again.

Charging, she smashed into him, backing a blow that otherwise would have glanced off of him with enough biotic charge to send him stumbling.

Falling, he scrambled back desperately, as she bore down on him, ready for the kill.

His back against a wall, she grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him to her eye level, strengthened by biotics. "Who are you?"

He smiled meekly. "Kolyat Krios," he introduced himself, offering his hand comically. Liara's expression remained deadly. Swallowing audibly, the boy went on. "Listen, I know you probably want to bash my skull in now, but— _don't get any ideas!_" He quickly warned in fear, as the asari debated doing just that. "Just let me finish!" he pleaded, not out of cowardice, but rather urgency.

She decided not to kill him. Not yet anyway. With a sneer of disgust, she dropped him, deciding he couldn't be much of a threat anyway.

"What do you _want_?" she asked, the anger receding, replaced by despair. She was so tired of all the deceit, all the secrets, that she had encountered ever since beginning her quest. She just wanted it to end.

Kolyat rose unsteadily, glancing at her with sympathy. "I'm with the Alliance," he stated, deliberately flashing a set of credentials he had taken from his coat pocket. "I was assigned to shadow you. Make sure you were on our side."

Liara felt her blood begin to boil once again. "So, the Alliance thinks I'm a _traitor?_" she spat at him over her shoulder. Her voice rose dangerously.

"No! Nothing like that!" Kolyat quickly reassured her, waving his hands animatedly. "You more than proved yourself back during the Citadel battle. Shepard trusts you, which is why the Alliance sought you out." He glanced at the conference pedestal. "Sorry about… er… eavesdropping, but we had to be sure you were still on speaking terms with the commander. We've heard… disturbing things about what you've been doing."

She shook her head. "What business is it of the Alliance to look into _my_ life? I'm not human!" she protested vehemently.

"Look, I know it sounds strange, but you need to listen to me." His eyes darted about the room, taking in the furnishings. "You're not human, but neither am I. The Alliance isn't so choosy about people with… particular talents. And besides," he carefully phrased his statement, knowing he was walking on glass with Liara. "You know him best. I had to make sure you still knew how to reach him."

Suspicion edged into her voice, as she turned to face him. "How does the Alliance know about Shepard and me?" Was nothing sacred?

Kolyat grew nervous. "Maybe you'll want to talk to my boss about that one."

Liara's brow furrowed, and she glanced at him in curiosity. "Who?"

"You'll see if you come with me," he promised. "She wants to see you."

**Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik, Omega Station, Engineering Sublevel 2B, Central core, 0638 hours**

Engineer Morris had been having a pretty slow day.

That was how he liked things. Nice and lazy.

Dependable, too. Breakfast at 0800, punch-in at 0830, lunch at 1245, punch-out at 1600. Never any surprises, never any problems. All he had to worry about was not misplacing his omni-tool, and remember to put on his helmet when walking into vacuum. Considering both objects were always attached to his body, that wasn't too much of a bother.

So he was understandably flustered when a group of Maintenance Inspectors from the Blue Suns' Engineering division ventured down: a human, a quarian, and a turian. The quarian surprised him; their species wasn't known for associating with the Blue Suns. But they were great technicians, and it didn't pay to turn down skilled labor.

The human had introduced himself, flashed him his credentials, and told him that everything was under control. Just a surprise inspection of the central core, nothing to worry about.

Of course, Morris was rightfully dubious, confused that the Blue Suns would give a damn whether or not any machinery was operating other than their guns. When he'd tried to stop them, call it in with Wilkins back on base, the turian had quickly introduced him to his rifle. Where the hell did that come from?

And so the engineer found himself handcuffed to a water valve, his security clearance cards stolen and his communications device disabled.

On the plus side, the quarian had at least thought to leave his lunch pail within reach…

Meahwhile, Tali'Zorah vas Normandy punched in the security code they'd recovered from the hapless maintenance employee, while her two allies donned their vacuum-helmets. Opening the airlock door, they entered swiftly, allowing it to cycle shut behind them while the chamber equalized pressure with the exterior.

Emerging into the corridor, they were immediately hit with a sense of vertigo as they entered the central shaft, the station's artificial gravity keeping their boots adhered to the deck as they strode into the colossal chamber.  
Shepard lost his bearings, loosing sense of which direction was up. He extended his arms to steady himself, shaking his head momentarily before growing accustomed to the sense of confusion brought about by such situations.

He'd grown up on ships, his parents bothing serving in the Navy. Shepard's entire childhood had consisted of living on one vessel or another, but you never got used to that plummeting feeling in your stomach when the rules of gravity began to bend.

Despite the fact that they stood fimly on the metal plating of the core shaft, the long corridor before them seemed inexplicably to head directly down, although they did not fall. The disorientation passing, Shepard reassured Tali, who had placed a friendly hand on his shoulder, that he was quite alright, before drawing his rifle and advancing down the hall.

There were no windows along that stretch of tunnel, but one could _feel_ the position of the chamber within Omega, the senses growing more attuned in the deafening silence of vacuum. Shepard's breathing was overloud in his ears, but that was simply because there was no other sound to be heard.

His strides slowed by vacuum, Shepard methodically advanced, Tali and Garrus flanking him, weapons out. They moved as if in water, their reactions slowed, subdued. The echo of their footsteps seemed distant and muffled. Otherwise, nothing but a silence so tangible it seemed to press down upon their ears.

Glancing over his shoulder, he received reaffirming nods from his squadmates, who spoke into the emptiness, their voices magnified.

"All clear."

"Let's go for the core."

With a nod of approval, Shepard made sure his battle rifle was properly loaded, thermal clip secure, before advancing.

They had been travelling for some time, alone in the void. Things felt too… easy. Whoever the Admonitor was, they wouldn't have hidden here if someone interested in their occupation could just swing by.

The floor extended out in both directions from the walkway they used, elevated some twelve inches off the ground, before curving upward and meeting directly overhead. It was as if they travelled within the inner band of a ring. A perfect place for echoes. Sound carried marvellously here.

The tunnel had already begun to narrow, tapering into the pointed spire at the road's end, when they heard it.

A resonating _boom_ that carried down the corridor. Shepard lifted a single fist to signal a complete halt. The gesture was unnecessary. The others had frozen. The echo seemed to reverberate within their very bones. Shepard's heart pounded. He noticed, not for the first time, just how loud his breathing was. As ridiculous as it sounded, it almost seemed it would betray their position.

Silence, then. No other sound. But Shepard knew what he heard, as did the others, by the way they glanced at each other meaningfully. They all knew the sound of a closing airlock.

Someone was coming.

With a quick signal, he called, grateful for their secure com channel, "Come on! We're almost there!"

Garrus quickly complied, taking point with his sniper rifle at the ready. Scouting out the area ahead through his scope, he noted into his mic, "Okay, no hostiles ahead. Let's keep moving, nice and easy. The tunnel terminates about," he consulted his rifle's readout, "A hundred meters down the road. We can make it if we sprint."

Tali's birdlike feet had difficulty finding purchase on the titanium decks, but she bravely tried to forge ahead. Noticing her discomfort, Shepard slowed his pace down, offering her assistance.

The quarian stopped for a moment, hesitant for some reason. Shepard didn't know why. His eyes stared at her with concern through his visor, his mask unmoving as he spoke. "Need a hand?"

Despite the urgency of their mission, Shepard could have sworn Tali was distracted by something. She seemed reluctant to accept his offer, conflicted about something. Only for a moment.

Behind her amethyst visor, Tali's vague features appeared to relax, and she took his hand at last.

They could all see it now, as the hallway shrunk, a point in the distance was visible, a solid bulkhead, no doubt a powerful radiation shield against the mass effect fields beyond. Tali would probably be able to hack it, with EDI's help from the ship.

Only seventy meters to go.

_Bang!_

The gunshot rang with all the resonance of a high-yield explosion in the vacuum, temporarily deafening the commander. Where the hell had that come from?

Tali's grip on his hand tightened.

Ears ringing, Shepard shook his head, stunned, and finally seemed able to hear again.

There was a sinister hissing, like that of an angry snake, and for a moment Shepard didn't understand what it was…

Then Tali gasped aloud, a horrible, ragged sound in the stillness, and everything became terribly clear.

Turning around, Shepard saw her, standing stock-still. Through her visor, he could see her eyes, widened in shock.

_No._

As one they both glanced down at the bullet wound in her side, both faces frozen in disbelief. Escaping air propelled thick globules of quarian blood from the ugly rupture in her exosuit.

It was red, like a human's. Something about that stunned Shepard. It was so familiar.

Pressing a probing hand to the hole, Tali stared at it curiously, as if in disbelief. Raising her gaze to meet Shepard's, she said nothing, only watched him questioningly.

She staggered, and he instantly jumped forward, catching her. Cradling his friend, the commander shook his head, refusing to believe what he saw. "No. No, Tali, talk to me! Tali? _Tali!_"

He was vaguely aware of Garrus returning fire. Strange. The gunfire seemed so distant now, so muted. All he heard was Tali's labored breathing. All he felt was the beat of her heart as she lay limp in his arms.

But all the while her hand, so thin and fragile a thing, held his own with a fierceness he wouldn't have thought possible. Nothing felt more real to him now. Not the roar of combat, not the screams of Garrus over the din, ordering them to move, to get the hell out of there.

None of that mattered. Only the feel of her little quarian hand in his.

"Shepard?" She sounded so confused, so frightened. Her eyes met his. "It doesn't hurt."

It wasn't a question. She wasn't trying to comfort him. Tali merely laid there, calmly, feeling her life fade away. All she could think to say was, one final time, "It doesn't hurt."

She went still.

He couldn't hear his own screams. Shepard rose unsteadily, blindly unaware of the bullets ricocheting around them, as he stumbled onward, hugging Tali close to his chest. Her suit had stopped venting oxygen. Maybe the compartmentalized device had sealed the breach, allowing no further air to escape.

Maybe there wasn't any air left.

He made no note of Garrus crouching behind cover, screaming into the com for EDI to unseal the door. Whatever was beyond it, be it salvation or death, it didn't matter. Anywhere was better than here.

Shepard held Tali close. Nothing else mattered now. He listened for a moment to the rumble of gunfire, felt Garrus place a consoling hand on his shoulder, haul him to his feet. He never let her go. She was a sister to him, one of the most dear things in his life. Family.

Family was what counted. His family. She was a part of it.

And no one was going to get left behind.

It all came rushing back. Sound became real to him again, and he quickly put aside his grief. Fight or die.

He'd dropped his rifle somewhere back down the line. Drawing his pistol, he fired three shots in rapid succession back the way they'd come, shielding Tali with his body. Several grazing shots rebounded off his shields, and he returned the fire willingly. In the distance, a dark-armored figure took a slug to the neck. Its hands went to his throat, trying to contain the atmosphere that now left it breathless, before finally going limp and tumbling through hard vacuum.

The metal hatch was about three meters wide, chrome in color, painted over with the universal symbol for mass effect radiation. Bullets pinged off its hardened surface, leaving superficial scratches on the steel. EDI said something in their ears, a warning, but it didn't matter. What was done was done.

The vault door swung open, and Garrus quickly climbed in, but not before giving several of the shady assailants something to remember him by. Extending his claws, he received Tali, ducking his head as a shot almost brained him, before pulling her in.

Shepard was last to go, unloading his clip into a distinctly turian figure who had drawn too close, before clambering in after the others.

They stood in a small airlock, but before they could examine anything by the light of the maintenance tunnel behind them, they'd swung the door shut.

Darkness.

Garrus punched the glowing airlock cycling button, and oxygen flooded into the repressurized chamber.

Shepard found Tali in the shadows, propped up against a gently curving wall. Pressing a hand to her chest, he registered a faint heartbeat. She stirred little, and her breathing was shallow. Ripping off his helmet, he looked once more into her eyes. They had shut. Unconscious.

Pressing an application of medigel to her open wound, Shepard managed to staunch the bleeding, working by the light of his omnitool. Garrus hovered over his shoulder, mutely standing guard, weapon trained on the inner airlock door.

Then, at some unbidden signal, the hatch opened.

White light flooded into the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Crescent Nebula, Tasale System, Planet Illium, Nos Astra, Docks, 0702 hours**

Liara weaved through the crowd, barely avoiding a great elcor as it lumbered by. Straining to see over the bobbing heads of passerby, she could make out the distant form of Kolyat, the drell expertly moving with the hustle of the throng.

She, on the other hand, was damned near loosing sight of him. Pushing her way past a couple of volus with less decorum than she would have liked, she drew level with Krios, keeping up a brisk pace to match his long stride.

"I'm still wondering why I decided to follow you," she told him, eyes scouting out the road ahead for any dangers. Her work had made her no friends on Illium, and it paid to stay vigilant.

"Believe me," he quickly assured her, scarcely glancing back as he turned a streetcorner. "Your trust is well-placed."

She scowled slightly, a sense of insolent anger creeping up on her. "It's not trust that makes me follow you. You say you're with the Alliance." She sidestepped a turian, now jogging to keep up. "I want to have a word with whoever knows about Shepard and me." Even as she thought about the commander, her expression softened. But it hardened almost instantly once her mind returned to the present. "But if you're lying to me, and there is no Alliance representative, you'll be apologizing through a mouthful of broken teeth."

The threat rang idle. The events of the last few hours had left her very shaken. Liara found herself struggling to maintain the mindset required to make such demands, her thoughts now dominated by her feelings for Shepard, laid bare for the first time in so long.

At any rate, Kolyat didn't take her seriously. The boy shook his head marginally as he ducked through a group of idling asari, causing several of the ladies to scream shrilly. With a mischievous smirk on his face, he called back to Liara, "Whatever you say. It's just my job to get you to the ship."

_Ship? _Liara thought, now running after the drell. _What ship?_

She struggled to keep pace, cursing her choice of footwear. The elegant shoes that were now a part of her everyday wardrobe weren't suited for this. How she hated this line of work. Not for the first time, she remembered fondly the days she's spent excavating Prothean ruins, dressing out into her digsite gear, with her simple, practical shoes to work with.

Of course, nobody but Shepard and the old crew knew about her former career. To the galaxy at large, she was just an information broker. A damn good one, too.

At last Kolyat seemed to slow, allowing Liara to approach him and catch her breath. Glancing over his shoulder for the first time, he noticed the asari draw near. "About time," he quipped, now guiding her through the Nos Astra docking terminal. Visitors poured in through the docking bay gates, having just disembarked their vessels. Nearby, the Customs Office was performing the unhappy task of checking the tens of thousands who arrived daily for any contraband. A pointless exercise. This was Illium.

Crime always found a way.

With an aggravating knack for knowing just how to test her patience, the boy seemed to decide it best to slow down, now taking his time to leisurely stroll along, Liara in tow.

Deciding not to strike him for delliberately annoying her, she inquired, with genuine curiosity, "You know Shepard?" Liara couldn't help but contain her excitement at the thought of receiving any word on Shepard's well-being.

Kolyat briefly looked at her, taken aback by the curiosity in her voice. "Yeah," he replied slowly, uncertain as to why such a dangerous information broker appeared so vulnerable now, at the mention of the commander. "I met him, once. He and my father… ah, _intervened_ on my behalf back on the Citadel. Needless to say, they saved me a lot of trouble."

Liara suddenly remembered where she'd heard the name. Krios. The assassin. This kid was Thane's son?

She quickly removed the thought from her mind, as Kolyat went on. "He's a good man you know. Shepard, that is." At her inquiring look, he ammended, "Look, things between me and my father… they're best left alone." He finished his sentence with a note of pain in his voice.

Dropping the subject, Liara replied, drawing alongside the drell, "I see. You said that your commander wishes to speak with me?"

Nodding, he answered, "She's waiting for us aboard the _Midway_. Alliance frigate." Gesturing for her to stay close, Kolyat strode through the main entryway, emerging onto the docks.

Ahead, the road branched off into various walkways, running left and right, fanning out to sprawl across the great titanium walls of the docking bay. Railings ran alongside the paths, the only thing between pedestrians and the yawning abyss below. Metal arms extended above and below, terminating in fingerlike clamps that latched securely onto the hulls of hundreds of vessels, suspended in midair.

Liara approached the banister, resting her hands on the railing as she scrutinzed the chamber. Asari warships, turian vessels, cargo freighters, and even a high-end yacht or two were moored here at Nos Astra's spaceport.

She raised her gaze to the skies for a moment, her bright eyes dancing in the light of the stars. Liara breathed deeply, and, for a moment, she could pretend she was on Therum again, far from this hub of crime and politics. As Kolyat approached her, she thought for a moment it might be Shepard, and that her dream really had come to pass.

But it was only the drell. Releasing the breath, she drooped slightly, her weariness catching up with her once more. Turning about, she nodded professionally. "Let's see this ship of yours, Krios."

_Someone knows about Shepard. It's time we had a long talk._

*****

**Crescent Nebula, Tasale System, Planet Illium, Nos Astra, Docks, 0734 hours**

Krios went first. Standing before her on the boarding ramp, Kolyat punched the ship intercom, speaking clearly into the mic, "This is Krios, Alliance Registration Service Number 9748-AC-0849. Our guest is here, and she's willing to talk. Open up."

As they waited for the hatch to cycle open, Liara glanced left and right, taking in the scope of the vessel. The _Midway _stood at eighty meters long, its titanium hull gleaming in the ambient light. On either side, a yellow war stripe had been painted, running the length of the ship. Its design was like most other Alliance frigates, and likewise named after a famous Earth battle, but Liara had never studied human history. The subject had only been introduced to galactic society's universities thirty-odd years ago.

The _Midway _appeared to be in prime condition, since the repair and refitting teams from the dock's staff had not touched it, and merely idled in its landing. In fact, by the way the ship had docked in a less-occupied sector of the docking bay, it seemed to Alliance vessel had gone out of its way to avoid any undue attention. Impossible on Illium, where information was exchanged as fast as the extranet could carry it, but an admirable effort.

After several moments, a voice came back over the intercom. "Ground party, you are cleared for bording. Prepare for decon."

Nodding, Krios waved her over, and Liara complied swiftly. The boy hadn't led her astray (not yet, at the very least) and so her edging suspicion now gave way to excitement, and curiosity. Who had come all the way to Illium just to talk to her?

Following the drell into the small decontamination chamber, Liara watched over her shoulder as the entryway sealed behind them with a _thud_. For better or worse, she was now a guest of the _Midway_.

As antibacterial mist sprayed into the chamber, Liara wondered to herself what had led her to trust a stranger, and board an unfamiliar Alliance vessel at a moment's notice? Of course, she didn't trust Kolyat, or the Alliance for that matter (they had lost her trust when they had abandoned Shepard's memory and his crew after his death), but even so, she was taking an awful risk following Krios. This could all be a trap, set up by Eclipse. Or the Shadow Broker.

But the answer was clear to her: Shepard. Even the promise of speaking with this mysterious commander, who knew so much about Liara's personal life, was enough to lure her here.

Watching the antibacterial swirl around her, she stood, anxious, tired of waiting. She'd come this far, after all. Kolyat merely examined the bare room at length, as if terribly interested in the sterile white ceiling. Liara had no such patience.

Finally, the room's occupants thoroughly detoxified, the blast door swung open, admitting them aboard. Kolyat strode across the gangway nonchalantly, hands in his coat pockets, while Liara was a bit more wary. It had been a long time since she'd found herself in a safe place she could call home (not since the _Normandy_, in fact), and she'd be damned if she let her guard down now. Alliance or not, she had few friends in this galaxy anymore.

No need to get comfortable.

Regardless, as she walked over the threshhold, a wave of memories returned to her. Visions of Shepard's vessel flashed before her eyes, since the _Midway_, although inferior in technology to the _Normandy_, nevertheless resembled her old home. Her only home.

But the faces were not the same. The nostalgia was driven away as she was immediately greeted by a duo of Alliance Marines, both clad in full battle armor, weapons drawn but not raised. Through their visored helmets they scrutinized her, and, evidently seeing only a woman, decided she wasn't a threat.

If Liara had been feeling hostile, that would have been a big mistake.

One approached her, nodding professionally. "Ma'am, your name?" He asked, no doubt calling up the information on his helmet readout as he spoke.

She had nothing to hide. "Liara T'soni. I was told your commander wants to have a word with me?"

Both soldiers glanced at each other briefly, before the second answered, "Affirmative. The captain would like to see you in the com room." Gesturing for her to follow, he prompted, though not unkindly, "This way, please."

Courtesies aside, she didn't fail to notice the way the other guard kept her in his sights as she followed his fellow. She hardly needed the escort. She knew her way around an Alliance frigate, and the way she walked with calm familiarity with her surroundings seemed to unnerve the crew.

All around her, human servicemen and women eyed her with suspicion, glancing up from their work or their conversations to get a look at the asari who earned herself an armed guard. She paid them no mind, but did feel a pang of sorrow, knowing full-well that this crew, without a personality like Shepard at its head, wouldn't be very alien-friendly. She was reminded painfully of her first weeks on the _Normandy_, when her fellow crewmembers had treated her with distrust.

At least these people weren't aware of her heritage. Matriarch Benezia's name had been badly tarnished following Saren's defeat. It didn't do her any favors with the galaxy at large to be known as that traitor's daughter.

Returning the unfriendly stare of a passing ensign, Liara forced herself to forget her troubles. She needed to keep her wits about her.

No telling who was captain of this vessel.

The com room was situated almost exactly as the _Normandy_'s had been, just behind the CIC. Turning a corner, the Marines flanked the door, silent once more. After a moment, as one of them listened to radio chatter, they nodded to her.

Without a word, Liara approached the door, which parted to admit her. The com chamber was dimly lit, with only fluorescent bulbs installed in the ceiling and along the walkway to illuminate it. Taking a moment to compose herself, she drew her figure upright, realizing with a mental wince that she still wore the rather improper evening gown she had been sporting back at her apartment.

But no matter. With dignity, she glided across the room, her arms resting at her sides gracefully. Chin angled up jauntily, she arched a fine eyebrow, utilizing the tactics she had learned as an information broker to maintain a semblance of the utmost decorum.

Standing at the far side of the circular chamber, a woman kept her back to Liara, having just powered down a com channel.

Liara halted at a respectful distance, and waited.

After a moment, in which she leaned against the railing, seemingly exhausted, the captain drew herself up, and turned to face her guest. She was an aging woman, somewhere in her fifties, her gray hair still highlighted by several brown locks. Her face was kind, but grim, mouth set in a slash of determination as her intelligent eyes scrutinized the asari before her. Those eyes possessed a vitality and a courage that belied the woman's years, and they seemed to stare straight into Liara's soul.

By the captain's expression of private dislike, Liara assumed she didn't like what she saw.

But her eyes… They were what gave the woman her character. Her dignity. They were wise…

And familiar.

The woman crossed her arms, her dark uniform bearing the sign of _captain_, as she stood tall. Liara sensed this woman could command respect with ease.

Finally, a kind smile broke her stony glare, but it was only polite. "How good of you to join me, Doctor T'soni. I've heard so many things about you."

Liara's eyes widened, her expression startled, for a moment. _How does she know about me? No one's called me Doctor since…_

"I'm sure you're very curious as to why I called you here," the captain began, as if sensing Liara's thoughts. She began to pace. "The Alliance is in need of your services. You've proven to be a valuable ally in the past. Your work with Commander Shepard was…" She searched for the right words, visibly troubled. "Most impressive."

Halting in her tracks, her head bowed, she considered the carpeting for a moment, before bringing her gaze to rest on Liara. "The Alliance is in need of your assistance again, Doctor."

As Liara drew breath to ask, the captain spoke, cutting her off. "And I am here to ask it of you. Captain Hannah Shepard, Alliance Navy."

Ice water shot through her veins, a sudden, nameless fear gripping her heart. Liara stood ramrod straight, as if suddenly electrified. Her blue lips parted, as though to speak, only to shut once more as she struggled to regain her composure. Eyes wider than ever before, she finally managed to intone, "A pleasure to meet you, Captain."

Captain Shepard nodded respectfully, but said nothing. Swallowing audibly, Liara went on. "Forgive me, Captain, but…" She bit her lip briefly. "Your name: would there be any relation to—"

Bluntly, the captain finished, with a defensiveness in her voice that Liara hadn't expected, "John is my son."

An uncomfortable silence descended on the room, as Captain Shepard stood loftily, her eyes boring into the young asari. Liara suddenly felt very small, and aware that this conversation had just entered very dangerous territory. She wasn't in control anymore. She never had been.

_Just how much does she know? _Liara's demeanor of calm composure was gone, wiped away. For the first time as far back as she'd care to remember, she felt helpless once again, awkward, unsure.

When the captain made no move to speak, Liara realized with trepidation that the officer was still waiting for her to talk. Plucking up her courage as best she could, Liara stated, "I had the great honor of serving with your son. Shepard is…" Her voice trailed away. What could she say?

With a hawkish glint in her eye, the captain finished for her, "Yes, John is quite special to me." Her use of _to me _made Liara wince, an act Captain Shepard didn't fail to notice.

Liara felt as if she'd just dived into ten feet of water. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and everything around her seemed to press in, drowning her. And yet, she was very aware of the fact that the temperature in the room seemed to have skyrocketed. Fidgiting uncomfortably, Liara went on. "Yes, I'm sure he is." Glancing around for some sort of diversion, and finding none, Liara quietly cursed under her breath.

_By the Goddess, what should I do? _If Captain Shepard was aware of Liara's work with John, then did she know about their… relationship?

Exhaling slightly, the captain mercifully took up the thread of conversation. "If you will, I'll be frank: Being a high-ranking officer in the Alliance Navy, and with such a personal interest in Commander Shepard's mission, I have been completely informed as to the events of said assignment." Her eyes narrowed, but her voice remained courteous. "Am I making myself clear?"

Liara's heart hammered in her chest. "Perfectly, Captain." She smiled weakly, silently cursing her wretched luck. Of all the parents Shepard could have had, his mother was a captain in the Alliance Navy.

_Damn._

Running a hand through her head fringe in agitation, Liara went on. "Then you must be aware of our…" The captain's eyebrows arched imperiously, and Liara found herself tongue-tied. There was no going back now.

"You know," Captain Shepard mused, turning her back on the terrified asari, "I always knew my boy would settle down, one day." Her voice grew grim. "I just never figured he'd choose a… nonhuman." She said _nonhuman _in such a way that Liara's blood boiled, but she restrained her newfound courage and bit her tongue. Hard.

"I know all about what happened between you and my son, Doctor. My sources don't lie. My only question is," She returned her scowl to Liara. "Did it mean that much to you?"

Instantly, she was alive. Defiant, she spoke, a gleam of fire in her eyes to match the captain's. "If you must know, Captain," she answered, struggling to remain respectful, "I love your son. More than anything." Feeling a great weight lift off her shoulders, she stood tall, laughing humorlessly for a moment. "And what's more: he loves me!" Liara strode toward the captain, her voice rising. "Ever since I laid eyes on him, I knew! We are made for each other!"

Her words echoed for a moment, as she stood there, a snarl at her mouth. Captain Shepard merely stared at her, taken aback by the sudden ferocity the young asari displayed. After staring down the captain, Liara suddenly became aware that she had just shouted at an Alliance officer, on her own ship. She couldn't remember the last time she'd shouted at anyone.

Unclenching her fists, she seemed to deflate, turning away from Shepard's mother. In a subdued tone, she said, "Forgive me, Captain. I am used to defending my position as your son's mate." The captain stirred uncomfortably here. "I was never popular with people, especially humans. When I served on the _Normandy_," she reminisced, her eyes growing soft and distant, "My crewmembers saw me as an outsider, or worse."

Glancing back to meet Captain Shepard's eyes, she recalled, "It was a lonely life. No one trusted me, or talked to me. Except Shepard. I can only imagine you see me the same way." Liara shook her head, dejected. "An alien." She lowered her gaze, shutting her eyes as a sudden wave of sorrow overtook her.

So strange. An hour ago she'd never even considered Shepard's family, since family had been such a small part of her own life. Liara had just assumed the same went for everyone else in the galaxy.

Her own mother had been a very distant figure for her, her most recent memories being of pain. Of death. Even to hear Benezia call her "Little Wing" one last time made up the happiest memory she possessed of her mother.

And now here she was, face-to-face with the woman Shepard called _mother_. And to be met with such open dislike…

_Maybe I was hoping to find some sort of acceptance._

Hannah was silent for a moment, her expression inscrutable. She merely stood there, watching Liara with a peculiar expression on her face. Liara felt her eyes water. She'd never had a mother. Not really. And now here was Shepard's, who, by all rights, should have been her own, now that she and John were one. But the captain had exhibited only disgust with the nonhuman her son had chosen as a mate. Was she always meant to be alienated from everyone?

"Doctor," Hannah began, breaking the quiet that had fallen over them both. There was a new sound in her voice. Something softer. Kinder. The asari spared her a sad glance. "Liara," she amended. "Maybe I was wrong to jump to conclusions. You…" She searched for the right words, brushing a strand of gray hair from her kindly face. "You seem like a nice girl."

She approached Liara, the latter wearing a look of complete surprise. When she extended her hand, the asari considered it for a moment, as if afraid to take it. Finally, her face broke into a delicate smile and, beaming, she accepted it.

"Thank you, Captain." Her voice trembled, but she managed to regain her composure, at least slightly. "So…" She half-shrugged, already feeling her spirits rise. "What can I do for you?"

The faint grin that had touched the captain's face flickered, as she crossed her arms behind her back. Putting her personal quarrels aside, she stated, "Things aren't going well."

Beginning to pace once more, Captain Shepard spoke directly to Liara, a look of worry written across her visage. "Four days ago we got pinged. Alliance ships on the edge of the Terminus Systems encountered something rather… unexpected.

"Geth ships emerged from behind the Perseus Veil, beyond which we can only assume they've built their empire." She was entirely professional, an Alliance captain. One wouldn't have guessed she'd just been discussing her son's private life. "Our ships in the area, performing a routine sweep, moved to engage. The dreadnought _Everest_ and the cruisers _Paris_ and _Ankara _found themselves up against a geth fleet. Reports indicate upwards of fifty carriers, dozens of cruisers."

Liara's eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting upward. With incredulity in her voice, she said, "That's an armada! Why doesn't anybody know about this? Were there any survivors?" Her rapid outburst of questions was met with the captain's upraised hand, signalling her to calm down.

"Relax, Liara." Hannah frowned marginally. "The public doesn't know about this because the Alliance has hushed it up. If word got out, we'd have a full-scale panic on our hands. A war that could only end in massive loss of life."

Liara was thunderstruck. "People need to know about this! I can't even believe something this big got past my contacts, or even the rest of the information brokers! The Alliance has no right to—"

Captain Shepard cut her off with a wave. "The Alliance has a damned good reason for suppressing this information, Doctor." Seeming to remember what line of work her son's mate was in, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. "As to why your network hasn't heard of this, well, we may not be perfect, but the Alliance can still keep its secrets. Some of them, anyway."

"But—" Liara couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"If you will!"A stern note crept into the captain's voice, and Liara forced herself to listen, crossing her thin arms across her chest. "Thank you. The reason we haven't alerted the public is because we are not at war. The geth did not fire on our vessels."

Liara's mouth parted in shock, but her inevitable questions were answered before she could draw the breath to ask them. "They initiated contact with the _Everest_'s commander, Admiral Conway. Asked him to listen to what they had to say." A grim chuckle escaped her lips. "Like he had a choice. Of course he accepted," she went on. "What they told him was interesting, to say the least."

The captain let her words hang. Liara leaned forward, intently listening. "The geth have offered an alliance with us. Their collective has deliberated, and, apparently, has decided that it is in the best interests of the galaxy to join forces with humanity and the Council. The Admiral was obviously doubtful, figured it was a trap of sorts. He asked them why they were suddenly so chummy."

A haunted look crossed Hannah's face, as it paled at the very thought of what the geth had said. "They told us. The geth have been united, their warring factions brought together now, under a single banner. Hell," she laughed, but it was a hollow sound, "I didn't even know they were at war. Apparently they were divided over whether or not to side with Saren, and Sovereign, over two years ago."

Liara knew those names well. Vivid memories returned to her, of weeks spent adventuring across the galaxy, seeking out Saren's geth wherever they could, trying to find the Conduit and put a stop to Sovereign's plan before the Reapers returned from dark space. What an adventure that had been. Again, memories of that night before Ilos returned to her. She immediately winced, feeling that such thoughts were seriously inappropriate with her theoretical mother-in-law nearby.

Even so, she did crack a small, wicked smile. Just for a second.

The captain didn't notice, evidently wrapped up in her own troubles. "Now they've united, and their first order of business was to emerge from their seclusion, and, as they put it, 'Demonstrate the truth behind their words'." She made direct eye contact with Liara, the magnitude of her statement clear.

"The geth have confirmed it: the Reapers exist. They brought forth evidence gathered from their time as Sovereign's allies, and it is unquestionable. Alliance Command and the Council were notified immediately."

Liara felt her chest swell with pride. "Shepard has been trying to tell the Council this for years. They've never believed him, but now they'll have to take action!" Excitement overcame her. She could see it now, reunited with Shepard aboard the _Normandy_, taking the fight to the Reapers themselves, with the galaxy to back them up.

"Don't you think I believed him? He's my son!" Hannah sounded genuinely hurt, and Liara felt a pang of guilt.

Rubbing her neck and averting her eyes, she answered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that…" Feeling her checks flush, Liara decided it would be best to just shut the hell up, before she made a bigger fool of herself. So strange. In recent days she was feeling more and more as she used to: confused, awkward, tongue-tied.

In truth, it was a welcome change. She'd spent far too long living behind her icy façade.

"But you're right," Captain Shepard admitted with a tone of hopelessness. "My son hasn't been treated fairly. But now the Council knows he was correct." Her eyes narrowed as she spoke with absolute resolve. "They will take action. I just hope it isn't too late." Her voice trailed off, as she pondered the implications of her words, before directly addressing Liara.

"Which is why I've been assigned to seek you out. The Council has decided that this information isn't to go public—yet," she assured Liara, at the look of outrage on the young asari's blue face. "The geth have expressed a particular interest in John. They say that he is responsible for their unification, whatever that means." She sighed. "He always did know how to stir up trouble.

"They wish to speak to him, directly. The Council has taken offense that the geth don't want to talk to them, but the machines have made their statement. They've said that it is he who is meant to lead against the Reapers, and only he who they will answer to. No one knows why. The Council pressed them for answers, and all they said was that they deemed it 'logical'. We had no other choice but to contact John."

She approached Liara, halting a few feet away. They stood in the center of the circular chamber, as the phantom light of the glow strips illuminated the room. "The Alliance hasn't been able to make contact. Someone has been intentionally blocking all communications with the _Normandy_, and without knowledge of where she's headed, we can't speak to any of her crew. You are my son's… familiar," Hannah stated, using the best euphemism she could come up with. "We figured that if anyone could help us reach him, it would be you."

Liara frowned, distressed. "I just received word from the _Normandy_. Not from Shepard," she warned, as the captain's interest was piqued, "But from one of his crew. It was… informal. Nothing to suggest they were in any danger. I know how to raise the ship's FTL communications suite; I was trying to do just that before your _agent_ tracked me down."

"My apologies for sending Krios after you. He's just a kid, but he's got a good heart. Good at his job, too. With his results, hell, he could've been human," Hannah explained, crossing her arms behind her back.

Noticing Liara's eyes harden, she smiled apologetically. "Forgive me. I served in the First Contact War. I've always had a problem with nonhumans." She stared for a moment at the asari, obviously still coming to terms with her son's blue-skinned lover.

Liara decided to let that one slide. She'd never really appreciated what a rare catch Shepard had been, free of hatred. Besides, the captain couldn't help herself. Prejudice was hard to unlearn.

"I guess I'll have to rethink my opinion of the other races. At least asari, for now." The captain's words sounded sincere, and Liara suddenly found herself resisting the overwhelming urge to hug her. The compliment meant a lot.

Hannah went on. "Kolyat has been working with us for some time now. Offered to assist when he heard Shepard was involved. I personally took leave of my post on the _Orizaba_ to command this frigate for the duration of this mission. Now, can you reach my son?" She could not contain the note of hope in her voice.

"I can," Liara informed the captain, putting her feelings of warmth aside. "When I last tried, I was told he wasn't aboard, but I'm sure we can speak to his crew. Who ever is monitoring his communications," Liara hypothesized, "Definitely won't be expecting us to reach him through his private Cerberus line. You'll be able to talk to him yourself."

The captain nodded curtly, immediately making for the com station nearby. As she began to activate the interface, Liara decided to voice a question that had been gnawing at her for some time now. "Captain?" Hannah Shepard gave a noncommittal grunt in response. "I understand the necessity of tracking me down, but," she paused, trying to find the best way to ask. "How exactly did you even know about my relationship with your son? Or my past work?"

Cursing under her breath, Hannah turned about. "I suppose I owe you that much. No, I wasn't aware of the particulars of the mission until very recently. As a matter of fact, I never was officially debriefed on my son's assignment. It was insider information."

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Liara asked, "Then who exactly told you about us?" Who even knew about her and Shepard?

Sighing deeply, the captain activated her personal com. "Wallace? Send her in."

Confused, Liara was about to ask what the hell was going on, when the door to the room immediately opened, whoever had been waiting outside finally able to enter.

Striding down the ramp in immaculate white Phoenix armor, Operations Chief Ashley Williams saluted, bringing a single gloved hand to her forehead. Face composed, she stood at attention at the foot of the slope. "Captain Shepard. Ashley Williams, reporting for duty."

"At ease, Williams," the captain said, pursing her lips as she returned her attentions to the com terminal.

Liara felt a sudden anger grip her. There she was. The human who had tipped the Alliance off about her and Shepard. Ashley had always been a bit of a bigot, never hesitating to voice her dislike of the nonhumans in Shepard's crew, Liara in particular. Things had just gotten worse when Ashley had been rejected by Shepard in favor of the asari.

The Alliance soldier, now at parade rest, turned her attentions to Liara. A look of polite indifference on her face, she stated calmly, "Doctor. It's been a long time."

_Not long enough_, Liara mentally retorted, feeling her fingers curl into fists. Even in a ravishing evening gown, and without any weapons on her body, the asari still seemed more hostile than the fully armed Operations Chief. Glaring daggers at Ashely, Liara nevertheless responded, in a level tone, "A pleasure, Miss Williams."

There was a stifling silence. Liara must have been radiating her rage all around her, because Ashley shifted uncomfortably after a while, masking the movement by sweeping a nonexistent strand of ebony hair out of her face, refusing to meet Liara's deadly gaze. After a while, with neither party willing to speak, the captain decided it would be best to intervene, before Liara introduced Williams to her biotic fist.

"Well, the station is ready, Doctor." She gestured at the waiting monitor. "Let's see if we can't raise the _Normandy_."

Ashley snapped to at this. "So you do know how to contact Shepard?" she inquired, eagerly. She hadn't given him the warmest reception when they'd reunited back on Horizon, calling him a Cerberus operative and a traitor. Ashley wanted to see him again, make up for lost time.

Liara scowled at Williams, infuriated that she even mentioned Shepard's name after what she'd done. Finally, she calmed herself, pinching the bridge of her nose to focus her thoughts. "Yes," she replied, after a moment's meditation. Opting to speak to the captain, she answered, "I can contact them. I have their address stored on my omni-tool."

Activating the device, she proceeded to call up the necessary information. Still refusing to acknowledge Chief Williams, she strode over to the terminal with complete grace, managing to seem as respectable and military as the two uniformed women.

Entering the data into the terminal, they waited as the holographic plate warmed up…

*****


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: After an eternity away from you all, Jack is back. And I come with good tidings, a juicy update! This chapter might feel a bit dramatic, but please, enjoy! I need to deal with the Shadow Broker's backstory a bit, so I can resume the Shepard/Liara romance and the whole _Normandy_ crew awesome adventuring! I am also pleased to announce that Mass Effect 3: The Prince of Shadows will be concluded (in six or so more chapters) by summer, so that Mass Effect 3, Part II (As of yet, untitled) can begin as a 50-80,000 word sequel!**

**So please, read on.**

**Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik, Omega Station, Engineering Sublevel 2B, Central core, 0657 hours**

Shepard crouched, pistol extended, as he hovered over Tali's prone form. The quarian lay, unmoving, her head slumped against her shoulders. But she had a pulse, and she was breathing. That was all that mattered.

_Hold it together, Tali._ He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, eyes still focused straight ahead.

Garrus glanced away from his sniper scope, but didn't lower his rifle. He pried his helmet off with a single hand, breathing the mercifully provided oxygen. Mutely, he nodded toward the exit, the silent question at his lips, _What's the plan?_

The cramped airlock stood at only two meters high, the walls and floor made of seamless titanium. The internal hatch had opened, admitting a blinding flash of light. Blinking furiously, Shepard tried to focus his vision as the searing light began to dim, his eyes adjusting to the glow.

Beyond the entryway, faint shapes could be discerned, dark, vague, unmoving. Shielding his eyes behind an upraised arm, he rose unsteadily, still unsure of what he saw. Gesturing for Garrus to protect Tali, he paced forward, into the harsh artificial daylight.

Dropping uncertainly, his feet made contact with a solid floor. Not metal, but tile. All around the dark shapes stood, large and small, silhouetted against the pure white of the chamber.

Stumbling forward, he knew full-well the dangers he risked entering this strange place. But Tali was hurt. Time was running out. Whoever had shot at them outside had to be working with the Broker.

Whatever this place was, it wasn't a mass effect core. There was air, and, now that he listened for it, sound. The tinkle of running water, the ambient melody of music.

_Music?_

Confused, he called back to Garrus, only to find the turian standing right alongside him. From what he could tell, there was an expression of incredulity on Garrus's scaly face, but it was hard to tell anything in this light.

As if on cue, the intensity of their surroundings died. Shepard squinted, his eyes finally adjusting to their surroundings, although his skull now ached with the effort.

The ground they stood on glistened a fine turquoise, a brilliant mosaic of Illium sea granite. The walls shone a pristine, milky marble. The dark shapes he had been unable to discern faded into ordinary furniture, tastefully arranged throughout the secret chamber.

No. Not a chamber.

An apartment.

Garrus glanced at Shepard briefly, astounded. "What—" His lips began to form the question plaguing both of them, but the commander cut him off.

"Whatever's going on here, it doesn't matter. Tali's hurt. Keep an eye on her." Shepard frowned marginally, eyes darting between a nearby mantlepiece, complete with roaring holographic fire, and the low couches and coffee tables situated in the den.

Pistol leveled, he crouched, slowly guiding himself between what cover he could. The walls of the living space sported no windows, and it seemed the tenant had compensated with as many bright colors as possible. The ambient glow of the lights above continued to irritate Shepard's vision, but he paid it no mind.

Turning a corner, he quickly investigated a quaint dining room, likewise devoid of occupants. The simple tabletop sported only two seatings, a pair of comfortable chairs pushed under the counter. It was pleasant, and well-kept, but nothing like the excessive decadence Ord'Caator had preferred.

Two dinner settings had been placed as well. Closer inspection revealed a humble meal composed of scanty vegetables, a bottle of distilled water, and some tough meat-like substance. The further setting was much more appetizing. Carefully steamed seafoods, a wineglass filled to the brim, and a bowl of soup, lovingly prepared and set with sparkling silverware.

And all of it was still hot.

Shepard placed a finger to his earpiece. "Garrus, how's Tali holding up?"

A moment's silence. "_She's doing fine, Shepard. But we need to get her aboard the _Normandy_. Soon._"

Nodding, he replied with worry in his voice, "Be ready to bug out of here. I haven't encountered anyone yet." He rose, making his way around a corner and down a short, carpeted hallway, adorned with photographs. Sparing these a brief glance, he moved on quickly. Time was of the essence. Whoever this Admonitor was, if he wasn't home, the mission, Tali's sacrifice, would all be for nothing.

Turning onto a landing, he glanced up a staircase, inclining upward into the rafters above. If he didn't know any better, Shepard would have sworn he'd just broken into a classic Earth home.

But he did know better. Tali had been shot by whoever was guarding this place. Whatever was going on here, it couldn't be good. And the Admonitor was going to pay for what his men had done. Pistol held out steadily, Shepard's eyes glanced back and forth as he ascended the stairs.

He emerged in a simple, one-room attic. Not fifteen feet across. Shelving covered the walls, where countless books, real, hardcover novels, had been packed away. Many were old beyond measure, the titles too worn to read. Loose papers scattered the floor, and Shepard glanced down to kick a stray sketch off his boot. It fluttered for a moment, as if in flight, before drifting back to the wooden flooring.

At the far end of the room, amidst a mountain of books and paperwork, sat a man. His back remained turned towards Shepard, as he bent over his work. A pencil scrawled frantically across one of the strange sketches he'd been slaving away at.

Shepard wasn't careless. Approaching slowly, he called out in a level voice, "You must be the Admonitor." Nothing threatening, or demanding. Best to open the discussion calmly, and establish communication. He had questions. Questions that needed answering.

Immediately he glanced up from his work, but did not turn. Alert for any treachery, Shepard brandished his pistol, ready for anything. But the stranger did nothing, only reclined in his tight, uncomfortable chair.

Exhaling gratefully, he seemed to relish in the break he had just granted himself. Shoulders slouched, he rested his gray-haired head back, unmoving. Shepard could have sworn he'd just gone to sleep.

"If you don't mind," he said with grim determination in his voice, but not unpleasant, "I'd appreciate you turning around."

The man sat upright immediately, as if startled. Shepard kept a close eye on him as he sighed for a moment, before turning his chair to face the commander.

A tired face stared, uncaring, up at him. Glazed-over eyes, whitened by cataracts, searched blindly for the speaker who now addressed him. The Admonitor wore a tattered suit, not filthy, merely worn by time. Gnarled old hands twirled a pencil endlessly between thin, bony fingers with surprising dexterity.

Beneath his mane of graying hair, he brought his blind gaze to bear on the source of the disturbance. "Forgive me, my boy. I doze off so easily these days. Lots of work to do, you know." He frowned, expressionless white eyes unchanging. "Always lots of work," he muttered.

Thoroughly confused, the commander lowered his weapon slightly. This was the Admonitor?

"Garrus, I've got… someone. I'll keep you posted."

The turian responded with a clear note of calm in his voice. He'd spent far too much time with Shepard to start questioning the strange turns of events that always came with their missions. A simple, "_Roger, Shepard,_" crackled over his earpiece.

For a moment neither man spoke, the young Spectre towering over the seated, withered being that gazed up at him with all the dull curiosity of a child. Finally, to break the awkward silence, Shepard spoke.

"If you're the Admonitor, I'm afraid I've got some questions for you."

The elderly man merely smiled pleasantly, face etched by countless lines, testament to years of worry. Of pain.

And memory.

But his eyes remained clouded. "The Admonitor." He lowered his blind gaze, fingers continuing to fidget absently with the pencil he occupied himself with. "That is what they call me."

Shepard glanced around the room once more, weapon resting at his side. Countless schematics had been tacked up, papering the free spaces between the shelving. Some of the drawings appeared so old that the markings upon them had faded beyond recognition.

The Admonitor's workplace was, to the contrary, conspicuously clean. The immediate countertop sported only a single terminal, and several well-organized datapads had been stacked beside it. An inactive omni-tool rested on the desk's wooden surface.

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." Frowning slightly, Shepard noticed the ancient figure tense.

Shaking his head, the Admonitor merely answered, "You don't want that, my boy. I know what you seek. You seek knowledge."

The dead eyes made contact once again. Shepard struggled to stand tall, a chill coming over his heart as the Admonitor's voice died to a harsh whisper. "And vengeance. I wonder, which is more dangerous?" He stared at Shepard, and through him, off into some distant imagining. For a time he said nothing, then went on of his own will.

"You seek the Prince. For what, now, that is the question. He has done many things. He has committed many crimes, and he lives under many names. You are not the first to seek to destroy him."

Eyebrows furrowing, Shepard crossed his arms, curious. "Prince?"

Here the wizened man, this _Admonitor_, straightened his posture fully, as if speaking of true royalty. "The Prince of Shadows. A master of secrets. He has wronged you." A pause. Then, a whisper. "He has wronged many people."

_Bright eyes, blue skin, the feel of her lips against his. Then, gone. Torn away. A last touch as their home exploded around them. A warning. To the escape pods. A flash of fire and lightning. The Collector ship drifted inexorably through space._

His fists clenched unconsciously.

"What's he's done to me doesn't matter. The Shadow Broker is working with the Reapers. He's a threat to the entire galactic community." Determination entered his voice, and he tried to put Liara from his mind…

He _tried_ to.

"I'm going to bring him down."

Tilting his head slightly, like a curious dog, the Admonitor stared at him as if he could visualize the Spectre before him. Nervous under his gaze, Shepard inquired, "Can you see me?"

The Admonitor did not break his blind stare. "I see nothing. And everything."

As a final note, he added, "Shepard."

Containing his alarm at this being's awareness, he responded, "If you know who I am, then you know about my mission, and you can tell me what your boss is planning. He knows I'm on to him. Will you tell me where to find him?"

A moment's silence. Resting the pencil on his lap, the Admonitor waved his free hands expressively. "He knows nothing. The Prince remains blissfully unaware of your crusade."

Shock broke out across Shepard's face. "What? How?" Wasn't the Shadow Broker the most informed individual in the galaxy?

"He has gone the way of all kingly beings. He has too much power. It has dulled his senses." A faint smile. "I am his eyes and ears. Funny, isn't it?" He seemed to appreciate the irony.

Shepard didn't have time for it. Tali was wounded. Time was running out. "I don't understand."

"I will explain," began the old man. "He is a trader of secrets, of knowledge, the ultimate power. He once had to work just like any other merchant, had to struggle for his wares. It cost him dearly. But his wealth grew. And as it did, so did his power. Mercenaries, ships, he's a self-proclaimed prince. My prince. I am his subject."

As Shepard drew breath to ask, the Admonitor stopped him with an upraised hand. "I have not spoken to one such as you in a long time. A long time," he repeated, somewhat to himself. "Permit me to tell my tale."

"_Shepard, Tali's stable. That shot took her in the kidney, though. I can hold her together, but escape is looking better and better right now. I'm not hearing any activity on the far side of the door, either. Garrus out._"

Patiently waiting, now the Admonitor went on. "I do not know the time, or the place. The names escape me. All I know is, it was five years before my eyes gave out. Anyway," he continued, "I was an… inventor of sorts. Wealthy, you might have called me, too. My little creation, well, let's just say it brought me much affluence. And attention. My personal shuttle was attacked by pirates, long ago. Mercenaries. They said their master wanted my assistance."

"The Shadow Broker," Shepard breathed.

"The Prince," agreed the Admonitor. "I had little choice. I was brought before him, a glorious being, wise and clever. A beautiful mind.

"He needed me. Needed a man with my talents, to aid him. I too, was an enigma. He knew I could comprehend the power of the secrets he handled only himself.

"But it is a wide galaxy. And its dark corners, far as they may be, have many secrets. He was determined to unearth them all." A frown here, as he began to play with his writing tool again. "Using my abilities, I was to become his Admonitor. Only I would trade in his secrets. In return, he promised me a cure."

Shepard had to interrupt. "Sorry, a cure? For what?"

The pencil twirled faster. "I was to live here, on Omega. A secret palace, for the Prince's greatest nobleman. Room for two. Myself, and my love."

The pencil stopped dancing. His eyes now locked on a vision beyond Shepard's sight. Despite the ruined condition of his eyes, the Admonitor seemed to see her before him even then. A sad smile touched his wrinkled lips. "She was ill. And for all my genius, all my wealth, there was nothing I could do to help her. We had been travelling back to Earth, when the doctors of the Citadel turned her away."

He hung his head, face now expressionless. "It was an illness of the mind. With time, she grew worse. But in the Prince's care, here, with me, she grew stronger. Strange, wonderful medicines he could provide, the bounty of his secrets. All I had to do was sort them for him. Aid him. Collect them all, the billions of little terrors and hatreds of a galaxy."

He gestured about his room, "I worked tirelessly. Freedom would never be mine, regardless, and never before had she been so well. At first, what I read sickened me. There are horrors and horrible minds in this universe, and all their confessions came to me. But it was for the best. I learned to blind myself to their meaning. Only grasp their value. I traded in secrets, as the Prince grew less and less invested in his work. He now merely sits upon his throne, in a sense, a complacent ruler. He built his empire. Now he trusts me to guard it."

Shepard recalled, with some concern, the dining arrangements for two. "Where is she now? Your wife?"

Silence. The Admonitor bit his lip in worry. Then, "Five years went by. The medicines were powerful, but they were not enough. One night, she left me, finally free of our palace-prison. She faded away. But the Prince promised, he said it was only for a _while_." His voice broke, and Shepard could hear the anguish. "Just for a while. She'd be back. All I had to do was keep reading. Keep searching."

Anger rumbled in his voice now, the first expression of real, powerful emotion that Shepard had heard from the Admonitor. But it was only a memory of the rage. A phantom. No longer without power or will to fight. "To spite him, I put out my eyes."

A harsh laugh. "He didn't like that. But he knew me too well. And the promise of her returning… I couldn't refuse. Some part of me knew it for a lie, knew she was… gone. But I couldn't… I…" His hands found his face, and he buried it for a moment in their grasp.

"I couldn't read anymore. But I was the inventor. I built the very tool that made me the Admonitor. I didn't have to read them, the secrets. My ears were enough. With my device, a galaxy of secrets could rest in my palm. Only I know its function best."

Shepard's eyes widened. "My god, you invented the omni-tool!"

The Admonitor glanced up from his story, uninterested. "Is that what they call it now? Doesn't matter. I would destroy it if I could. With it, his web of lies can fit into this little room. In here, the galaxy comes to me with its troubles."

Sighing, he confessed, "I still set the table for her, every night. The rations are barely enough for a single person, but I do it. Maybe… maybe she will come back. That's what I always tell myself… My Prince would never lie to me."

The Admonitor's tone had changed. He seemed to speak more to himself now. Shepard could sense he was loosing him.

"Come on now, stay with me. The Shadow Broker. You served him loyally all these years, even after what happened. And now, you don't tell him that I'm looking for him? Why now? Why me?" He couldn't help it. He felt for this tired old soul. He remembered his own words. _I still keep a picture of her. Did I ever tell you that?_

This man just wanted back his love. He couldn't blame him for that.

But the Shadow Broker had to die. Especially now. Now Shepard understood what he was dealing with. A deceiver, a cruel manipulator who twisted the minds of his servants, and used the galaxy's hate and fear to fuel his own insatiable lust for power.

"You are Shepard. The Reapers are a secret beyond even my understanding. You will do what you must. Just as I will do what I must. But in this quest of yours, our missions collide. They can either conflict…" He glanced up at the sketches he had posted on the wall, his own personal schematics for inventions he had never had the chance to build.

He smiled faintly once again. "Or merge. We have the same mission now. At least here. He knows not what you do because he has heard nothing from me. He has blinded himself just as I have. And deafened himself, too. What I say not, he does not care for. His trusts me completely. He speaks to me, every day. Tells me those lies, those truths, that I can no longer tell anything apart. This is why my guards have retreated. Because I told them to. My words are law to all but the Prince, and to him, they are scripture."

The Admonitor swallowed, beginning to shake with sorrow. "I can remember everything. The mysteries of this universe. The taint of its lies. Empires built on murder. But I cannot," he cried, his voice rising in despair, "Remember the life I had before. So many other lives, in and out of my head. But they're never fully gone. The secrets. The guilt." He professed, "They whisper to me, at night, when the darkness of my world seems most dire. That, and the whispers of the Prince." His voice dropped, both eerie and foreboding now. "He knows much. Too much. But I have told him nothing of you, Shepard. You can still find him. And kill him."

John felt a wave of empathy wash over him. He'd come here looking for a criminal, a mastermind whose actions he could blame for his pain. But he'd found just a prisoner, a tortured soul. Trapped in the cell that was his mind.

Kneeling at eye-level with the small man, Shepard holstered his weapon. Resting a reassuring hand on the Admonitor's bony shoulder, he spoke. "Come with us. You're just as much a prisoner here as anyone else. We can protect you."

The Admonitor scoffed, derision entering his previously frail voice. "Who?" he spat. "That Alliance? The Council? Ha!" His voice grew slightly deranged. Shepard drew back slightly, hand wandering to his pistol once again. "They are in his pocket! He will find me, and you, and kill us both. And no act of heroism can save you then, Commander Shepard."

Before Shepard could muster a response, the Admonitor appeared to calm himself, shrinking in size once again, retreating as far as he could into his rickety chair. "No. There is no escape for me. He will notice my absence. And then, no lie of mine can protect you, Shepard. But _here_…" He gestured grandly about his squalid chamber, evidently seeing so much more than what was before them both. "_Here_ I can aid you. With lies and deception, I can cover your tracks. He'll never even know you were here. Go now, find him. You must."

The determination in his voice surprised Shepard. He had to ask. "You still haven't answered my question. So many people before have tried to bring him to justice. Why betray him now?"

"He is my Prince. I am his servant. He gave me my love, if only for a little while longer." His voice hardened. "But his lies must stop. I loved him like a brother, and yet, now I realize…" His face was cast in shadow as he lowered his head. "I am merely an asset. I mean nothing to him. And so I will do what I can to help you. You, who knows the pain he can cause to a life." He blinked blindly. "The suffering."

Breathing deeply, Shepard debated with himself for a moment, before nodding. Rising, he asked, "Where can I find him?"

Instantly, the Admonitor was up. Moving with the practiced ease of one who could recognize his surroundings, he made for his desk, without hesitation, without guidance. Hefting his omni-tool, the Admonitor powered it up as he attached it to his arm. Orange light glowed along his wrist, winding up his bicep like some neon serpent. Waving it, he stated, "I am uploading his coordinates to you."

As he worked, he spoke with a sense of finality. "There is no secret palace, Shepard," he warned gravely, "No fortress on a far-off world. Just a house."

Turning away from his workstation, he stood upright, staring Shepard square in the eye. "And he is just a man. Just like you. Just like me. For all his secrets," he laughed, but it was a hollow sound, "He is just a man."

The commander stood still, nodding with satisfaction as his omni-tool verified the transmission. After a moment's silence, the Admonitor whispered. "Leave me."

Making to do so, Shepard had just begun to descend the stairs, opening a com channel to Garrus, when a shadow fell across him from behind. Glancing over his armored shoulder, he saw the aged man, slumped on the banister.

"Before you go, I would ask of you: Why do you seek his destruction? Is it for my salvation? For yours? For the galaxy?"

Gauntleted hands at his sides, Shepard responded, his own eyes now off in the distance. "He took someone I love very much away from me. I'm going to get her back."

Refocusing his gaze, he saw the Admonitor quickly close in on him. Alarmed at first, his reflexes kicked in. Reaching for his pistol, he realized the gesture was needless. The Admonitor merely stood before him, his sad, tired face smiling at his own.

There were tears in his dead eyes. But they were tears of joy.

"I knew you were special Shepard. Ever since I learned of you, and followed you, in my own way, I knew. You have a love, too. And you might just save her yet. But when you do," he counseled, gripping Shepard by the arm for support, or merely for emphasis, "Never let her go. Do you understand me?" Passion crept into his voice, and he blinked to keep back the tears. "Don't ever, _ever_ let her go. I wish I was as lucky as you."

He drew back, ascending the stairs. Where previously he had been graceful and determined, now he hobbled lamely. At the summit, he turned back, silhouetted by the bright flourescent lights of the study above.

"He's taken everything from me. My future. My past. I don't even remember her name. Or mine. He's taken _everything_. All I have left now is this, my boy. Go. You will not be followed."

And the Admonitor was gone.

It would be the last time Shepard saw the sad, old soul.

Placing a hand to his earpiece, he called out to Garrus, "Come on, let's get out of here! We've got a brief window of opportunity. See if we can raise the _Normandy_."

With a final glance up the stairs, he finished, "This fight is far from over."


	7. Chapter 7

**Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik, SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, docked at Omega Station, Bridge, 0728 hours**

Joker scowled intently at the com readout, as if willing the commander to patch in through the secure channel. Scratching his faint beard, he frowned, leaning back in his chair. Honestly, there were times when being the pilot was downright dull. Not for the first time, he cursed his lack of mobility, thinking of what kind of life he might have led if he'd had full use of his legs. Maybe he'd have been a soldier, or an Olympic sprinter.

But all it took was one feel of the controls, a glance throughout the cockpit— _his_ cockpit— to make Joker realize just how lucky he was. He was pilot of the _Normandy_. A member of Commander Shepard's _crew_. This was where he belonged.

And he'd be damned if he let the team down this time.

_Of course, if the commander would just call things in._ EDI had informed him of the garbled transmission they'd received from Garrus, something about shots fired. Of course, Joker couldn't recall a mission where a shot _hadn't_ been fired, so he really wasn't sweating the issue. The AI, on the other hand, was much more professional.

"The commander has been out of contact for over half an hour now. We need to do something."

"Oh, what?" Joker jibed playfully, "Cerberus spends millions to build you, and the best assessment you can give me is '_We need to do something_'?"

EDI didn't appreciate the humor. "As per Cerberus protocols, if contact with the commander is not reestablished within twenty minutes, assume a mission failure. We need to contact assistance."

For once, however, Joker didn't blow off EDI. She was right. Inclining forward in his seat, a concerned frown twisted his expression. The commander _hadn't_ radioed in, after all. And since the signal had been lost _after_ the radiation seal had been broken, two things must have happened: 1) the commander had just met the business-end of a radioactive field, or 2) they'd found something.

Joker didn't know which was worse.

"Right. Open up a channel to Cerberus command. We need to call this in." Joker began tapping at his controls, prepping the ship for a pickup if, or rather (as Joker fully expected), _when_ the commander called in for a rapid extraction. With a sigh, Joker realized that Shepard had a habit for executing dramatic exits as often as possible. Deliberately or not.

Sure made for a hell of an interesting job, he could say that much.

He'd just been calibrating the engines, when EDI came over the intercom, coming across just about as stressed as Joker had ever heard a synthesized intelligence sound.

"I can't get a signal, Mr. Moreau," EDI stated portentously. "My readings aren't indicating that the region is devoid of connection." Joker could almost hear her pause for dramatic effect.

"Someone is blocking our signal."

With a groan, Joker uttered a quiet curse, before opening the Cerberus Daily News. Sure enough, the day's report on Intergalactic politics, gossip, and sports scrolled across his terminal. They had a connection, all right. But the comms weren't picking anything up on the long-range. He couldn't even raise Omega.

"Damn it! EDI, run a virus check in the system, now! Someone's bugged our communications, and I don't think it's because they want to spare us the fan mail!" Extending his scrawny arm, Joker typed frantically at his nearby comm station, but his own rudimentary scans picked up nothing. Threat detection: minimal. The only questionable entries came from Joker's personal extranet visits.

Certain that Chora's Online Gentlemen's Club wasn't the source of the disturbance, Joker began sifting through their contacts, searching for any trace signal received unknowingly by comm. Nothing. The comms simply didn't receive any messages.

Muttering a long string of explicatives, he'd just begun a system reboot when EDI once again trumpeted in his ear. "I've isolated the block! It's a sleeper virus in our system! It appears to have been dormant for some time. Shutting it out now."

Joker waited patiently for some dramatic indicator of her success— for the lights to flicker or the hull to shudder violently, but the AI merely addressed him several moments later.

"Virus destroyed, but the damage is done. Our long-range communications array is nonresponsive, Jeff. The virus was well-programmed."

_Damn it, can't we ever get a normal error message?_ "Okay EDI, I'm going to purge the system, see what I can do with a—"

"Wait: I've got Commander Shepard on the line. Short-range."

EDI allowed the transmission through. The commander's instantly recognizable voice filled the room.

"_Joker? I need the_ Normandy_ prepped and ready for extraction at these coordinates. Have the med bay standing by. We've got wounded._"

His answer was instantaneous. "Right away, Commander! _Normandy_ en route now,"

_Oh man_, he thought to himself, genuine fear gripping his heart. Who was wounded? Tali? Garrus? He'd lost too many crewmembers when the original _Normandy_ had bought it two years ago. Joker still held himself responsible for that. He couldn't bear the thought of losing another friend. Another family member.

"EDI, give me full power to the engines! The commander wants us at the far installation's docking bay, ASAP!"

As the AI spun up the ship's drive core, Joker swore under his breath. Manning the controls, he guided the _Normandy_ toward the distant tip of Omega. _So there must have been _something_ there_, Joker realized, _Since the commander isn't so much fried bacon right now. But a _docking bay_?_

Hell if he knew what was going on.

Regardless, Omega's air traffic controller was unaware of the spire's true purpose. Seeing only a Cerberus vessel hauling proverbial ass toward the station, they immediately attempted to hail the _Normandy_.

When no response came, they assumed the worst.

Joker cursed again, knowing full-well what was probably going on right now. He couldn't slow down, though. One of his teammates was wounded, damn it. What harm if he broke the speed limit?

In Omega's hangars, the station's appointed defense force collectively clambered into their police gunships. They were going to have company.

Thinking it best to keep Shepard on the line, Joker kept talking. "Commander? I hope you know what you're doing."

The response was nearly instantaneous. "_We're at the bay. Venting atmosphere now. We're ready for extraction._" A pause, then, "_And Joker? Hurry._"

"No need to tell me twice!" He could already see the distant strobing lights of the police vehicles, moving to intercept. Of course, Joker wasn't afraid of the light weapons those ships boasted, but it would be wise to get the hell out of Dodge when the ground team was aboard. These were the Terminus Systems, after all. No time for their brand of justice.

The _Normandy_ drew near the station's tip, and, sure enough, there it was. A camouflaged panel fifty feet wide had drawn aside, revealing a modest loading bay. Interesting, true. Once they got out of this mess, he might just ask the commander what the hell went on in there.

He drew level with the hatch, cozying the ship's loading ramp up to the gaping hole. Joker bit his lip as he carefully maneuvered the vessel. There was a sharp _bang_ as he misjudged the distance, but otherwise the docking went off without a hitch.

Port cameras brought up a visual on his terminal. The commander could be seen, clad in his N7 vacuum suit, accompanied by Garrus. They supported a slumped figure between them, and although the image Joker could see was both grainy and colorless, he recognized her instantly.

_Tali's wounded? Oh hell._

"EDI?" he called out, determined not to get sidetracked, "What's the ETA until those gunships—"

A resounding _boom!_ echoed throughout the ship, as a concussion missile greeted their kinetic barriers.

"Does that answer your question?" EDI asked patronizingly. Joker could tell this was her way of getting back at him for the '_Do something'_ crack.

Uttering oaths that would make a krogan blush, Joker ensured the _Normandy_ remained securely mated to the airlock as he dialed up the shield strength.

"_Aren't you just a little late, Joker?_" Shepard's exasperated voice crackled over the comm. "_Okay, we're clear!_"

"Disengaging docking clamps! EDI, get me my coordinates!"

"Specify a destination, Mr. Moreau."

A sigh. "You can't be this obtuse. Anywhere!"

He could have sworn he'd heard a giggle. "Roger that."

For an instant the _Normandy_ drifted lifelessly in space. The secret hatch could be seen sealing swiftly at their exit. The police vehicles were just closing in, lights flashing, when the entire vessel shuddered, then rocketed forward at an alarming rate. Faster-than-light drives kicked in, and they were away.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Joker relaxed into his seat once again. Plucking his ballcap off his head, he scratched an itch behind his ear nonchalantly, before chatting over the ship's intercom.

"We're off, Commander. Dr. Chakwas has been informed, and the med team is on its way down." His brow furrowed in worry over Tali, but he fought the urge to ask as to her condition.

Instead, he merely quipped, trying to suppress his fears behind another of his jokes, "Oh, and Commander? We might have been a little late, but just fashionably."

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Moving at FTL Speeds, en route to Citadel Space, Med Bay, 0814 hours**

Dr. Chakwas nodded grimly, finally looking up from her work. Turning away from the operating table, she left Mordin to finalize the procedure, instead approaching the transparisteel viewing port, beyond which lingered most of the crew.

Shepard stood at their head, watching intently as the two doctors worked tirelessly upon Tali, who lay prone on a med bay surface. The wound, Chakwas had explained, wasn't so dire.

"No," she'd said, her English accent emphasized by her aged voice. "What really concerns me is that she's a quarian. Suit ruptures of this magnitude are never simple to treat. And there will almost certainly be severe infection."

She'd been right: the shot had grazed Tali's midsection, damaging a kidney and causing her to loose a large amount of blood. But kidneys could be repaired, and the _Normandy_'s medbay boasted a compliment of readily available blood transfusions for each of the crew's respective species. The real issue was the inevitable allergic reaction Tali would have from exposure to foreign bacteria. Her entire suit had been blown wide open, and although it had sealed in vacuum, it was doubtful that she had been spared contact with stray organisms.

The med bay had been vented, and pumped with a clean-air atmosphere. Tali had been stripped from her ruined suit, which had been entrusted to several of the ship's technicians (headed by Legion, who seemed to take her injury personally) to repair. She had been helped into a surgical gown, unconscious the whole while. It was for the best. She'd likely be delirious from pain and from the open-air infection.

For their part, Chakwas and Mordin had donned thin respirator suits of their own, to keep from contaminating the air with their breath. While the elderly human had operated the more advanced machinery, Mordin had proceeded with the actual surgery, being more experienced with alien life-form anatomy. Their thickened surgical gloves (to further protect against contamination) made their work difficult, but not impossible. Tali was in very capable hands.

At this distance Shepard could faintly make out her features. They were pretty, if somewhat sharp, framed beneath close-cropped ebony hair. But right now Shepard was more concerned with the bullet hole, and its terrible consequences.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Commander," warned Chakwas. "She's in bad shape. We've managed to seal the wound, and clean it out as best we can. But…" Her voice died out.

Mordin stepped in to assist her, also glancing away from Tali, his work completed. He drew a light blanket over her form as he spoke. "Near-catatonic state. Pupils dilated. Blood samples indicate beginning stages of massive infection." He frowned, obviously nervous. Quarians suffered from very potent immuno-defficiency. This could very well kill her.

"It's my fault, Shepard," Garrus lamented. "I must have exposed her when I was applying the medigel." He swore under his breath, wringing his hands, obviously feeling the blame was his.

"It's nobody's fault, Garrus," Shepard consoled him. "Your help kept her alive. If anything, it's my fault for leading you two into that hellhole." Guilt weighed itself upon his shoulders now, and the commander drew his hand over his eyes for a moment, before Thane spoke up.

"We have done all we could. Tali'Zorah is in capable hands. I think it would be best if we honored her sacrifice and proceeded with the mission, Shepard."

Chakwas smiled weakly through the glass. "Yes, we'll do everything we can. We can keep her on immuno-boosters, and afford her constant intensive care. I've seen worse. Much worse." But she seemed to be trying to convince herself of that, too.

Garrus nodded vigorously, emerging from his relapse of guilt. "Yes, that seems best. The Admonitor gave you the coordinates, Shepard?"

Glancing at his team, he saw the despair written across their faces. Human, turian, drell, salarian, it didn't matter. Grief had the same expression. But there was also the determination it brought, the fierce tenacity, the willingness to get the job done, and that was what he could see in their eyes. That spark. They would stop at nothing.

"Affirmative. They're stored on my omni-tool." For a brief instant he glanced down at the tiny device, and recalled the tired old man who had crafted it, so long ago. "They point to—"

"Shepard," EDI intoned. "It is now 1820 hours. I am programmed to inform you that you have one unheard message."

The commander glanced upward towards the deck plating above, as he always did when addressing the ship's AI. "I thought our comm relay was down?"

"Yes, but this message was sent via the Illusive Man's private FTL Comm System. I received it a little under an hour ago. With all that was happening, I did not deem it significant to mention."

"The Illusive Man's system is still operating?"

"It would appear our virus does not target our Cerberus channel. An oversight, on its maker's part, I assume. Few know of the channel's existence, and it runs on a separate operating system than the ship. It was untouched by the infection. Intentionally or not."

As ominous as that sounded, Shepard knew there were more important things to think about. "Whatever the Illusive Man wants, I'm busy. The Shadow Broker is out there, and we're working on borrowed time."

"The Illusive Man was not the sender of this message. Your former shipmate, Liara T'Soni, attempted to contact you."

Shepard's jaw went slightly slack, his eyes widening in surprise. For a moment he said nothing, merely crossed his arms behind his back, nodding. Mastering his expression, he stated, "I see. Have it ready for me in the Conference Room."

Confused thoughts and emotions rushed through him. _It's her! She wants to talk!_ Elation, worry, indecision, fear. _It's been so long. My god, to talk to her again—_

He thought no more. _Don't get your hopes up._ Preoccupied, he set off for the elevator at once, after briefly confirming with Dr. Chakwas that Tali was stable. Satisfied, he was just rounding the corner when a confused voice inquired, simply, "Shepard?"

He stopped in his tracks, and glanced over his shoulder. His team watched, stunned, unsure of what to say. Rumor had taught all of them the history between the commander and the Illium information broker.

Shepard glanced at the deck below his feet, equally tongue-tied. "I should take this call," he finally said. "It might contain information about the Broker."

Garrus spoke up, not disbelieving, but rather uncomfortable. "Whatever you say, Shepard."

They all knew this was dangerous. As the commander ascended to Deck 2 by the elevator, they could only think that a distraction now on Shepard's mind might jeopardize the mission.

But he was the commander. The decision was his.

And so Shepard stood alone, as the elevator doors slid open, his mind clouded and his heart unsure. But one thing was for certain: he would see his Liara again.

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Moving at FTL Speeds, en route to Citadel Space, FTL Comm Room, 0825 hours**

"_I love you. You mean everything to me. Please, forgive me. I should have told you sooner. Call me, any time you can. I need to see you again._"

Liara's voice was emitted, slightly distorted and faint, from the room's surrounding speakers, but Shepard had never heard a sweeter sound.

Her face wore that look of innocent distress that had always warmed his heart. Her wide eyes conveyed to him, even through a recording, the words he didn't even need to hear. There was no doubt.

She loved him.

"_Goodbye._"

Then it was over. His love vanished, a blue ghost for a single instant, before disappearing. The darkness of the FTL Comm System virtual viewing area receded, and Shepard found himself standing alone in the harsh light of the room.

And although his heart ached at seeing her go, and he died to play the message again, if only to imagine holding that ghost close to himself, he knew it would make no difference.

She said she wanted him to call her. Damn it, he'd do it right now.

Activating the pedestal, he'd begun to type in the return call function when EDI once again interrupted his train of thought. "Commander, I've got another incoming message. It's from the Alliance," she stated, incredulity evident even in her synthesized voice. "Shall I accept it?"

He frowned marginally, but nodded. How had the Alliance come by the Cerberus address? In fact, how had Liara?

"Patching them through, Commander."

Drawing himself upright, he affixed a professional expression, removing from his face the combination of confusion and joy he had experienced at hearing from Liara again. He wasn't Alliance personnel anymore, but he still held himself to their standards.

The room darkened again, and Shepard found himself standing in very strange company, indeed.

Ashley Williams stood at parade rest, her fair face wearing a look of pleasant recognition. She was just as he remembered her on Horizon. So military. So disciplined. Whether or not she agreed with his Cerberus dealings, she would always be a part of his family.

An Alliance military officer dominated the scene, dignified in her crisp Navy uniform. Her graying hair was kept neatly out of her familiar face.

"Mother—" He caught himself. "Captain Shepard." A military upbringing had ingrained in him its values. She was an officer first. "A pleasure."

Hannah Shepard smiled warmly, pretense forgotten. "John. My son, I haven't seen you like this for a long time." At this Shepard felt a pang of regret. After his mysterious return from the dead, one of the people he had neglected to inform was his mother. She'd sent him a message entailing her displeasure at _that_.

"I see Chief Williams is here as well. It's good to see you, Ash."

There was enough static over the connection that he failed to see her face light up when he spoke to her, though it was not lost on her companions. "Commander," she merely responded, but her tone spoke volumes.

"May I ask why you're contacting me? Or how you got this number?" His voice adopted a falsely stern note as he crossed his arms.

The captain moved to answer, and Ashely drew breath to speak, but a third voice called out instead, radiant and full of happiness at finally seeing him again. Full of longing.

"Shepard!"

There she was. In the same evening gown that had driven him crazy in that message. Her smile couldn't be mistaken, even through the connection, and the joy on her blue face was matched only by his astonishment.

Their eyes met, and although they could have been millions, billions of light-years away, it was as though they could reach out and touch each other.

He so longed to.

"_Liara_," he breathed, dropping his stance. He stood before her, unable or unwilling to move, to tear his gaze away from her beautiful face.

She too remained unmoving, wide eyes staring in adoration. Her wide grin turned slightly sheepish after a moment, and she turned her head to contemplate her foot. After a moment's silence, she glanced upward at him again. "I've missed you," she stated simply.

So strange. They had been seperated for so long, and yet here they were, making contact for the first time in months. And neither of them could think of a damn thing to say.

But those few words that she did utter carried so much emotion, so much love, that Shepard desired nothing more than to order Joker to execute a turn-about, and set course for wherever Liara was at that very instant.

When the pair of them descended into worshipful silence once again, Captain Shepard found it best to cough into her fist, reminding the couple that they were not alone.

Shepard ran a hand over his close-shaven hair, embarassed, while Liara's soft cheeks took on a slightly flushed tone. Casting their eyes about for some other subject, Hannah mercifully stepped in. "Commander, the Alliance has been attempting to make contact with you for some time. Miss T'Soni managed to secure your private channel's address."

He stole another devoted glance at her at this, and she blushed even further under his gaze. Remembering that he was being spoken to, he coughed unconvincingly to mask the action, and went on. "Yes, we… we were just made aware of our security breach, Captain. We are as of yet unsure as to the source of the block. I have my best people on it now."

"Yes," the captain began, disapproval of his unprofessional behavior creeping into her tone. "But the issue remains: the Alliance needs your help."

Ashley stepped in. "Geth ships have made contact, Shepard." She shrugged her armored shoulders expressively. "They're suing for peace."

John's eyebrows arched in surprise. It seemed Legion's virus had done the trick. The geth had unified. The quarians weren't going to like this.

"That can only be good news," he affirmed, smiling warmly. "We need all the allies we can get. What's the quarian Admiralty Board got to say about this?"

As the makers of the geth, who had subsequently driven them from their home world, the quarians harbored a deep-seated grudge against the sentient machines. Their war had been raging for centuries, despite its grievous consequences for both sides. Shepard had always known that, eventually, their fighting would have to stop, for the good of the galaxy.

"They are unaware of this development, Commander." Captain Shepard's face grew dark for a moment. "The Alliance has only notified the Council."

He frowned, confused. "Why would the geth seek a truce, and only have it made known to the Council? It doesn't add up."

"Their peace offering is galaxy-wide, but their offer of allegiance extends only to the Alliance. They want to join us against the Reapers."

That was unexpected. "Why just us? What exactly are they saying?"

Ashley took the foreground, drawing ahead of Liara. The asari glared daggers at her. "They've confirmed the Reaper threat to the Council. They have hard evidence, Shepard. The Alliance is suppressing the information to avoid a panic. We need a swift, military response, before we go public with this."

"Which is why we need you," the captain explained.

"Me?" Why was it always _him_?

"Because, Shepard," Liara upstaged Ashley, and he couldn't help but notice a wry smirk at her lips as she did so. "The geth don't want to commit until they consult with the human leadership."

He was about to speak up, ask why the Alliance brass wasn't taking this call, when Liara added, "Their logical conclusion is that _you_ are the human to represent your species." There was a distinct note of pride in her voice as she said this.

Shepard shook his head, amazed. "What is it they want of me?"

"They're waiting for your call," she explained, face lit up with excitement. She finished, playfully, "Why don't you ask them yourself?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Serpent Nebula, Widow, Citadel Station, Council Chamber, 0934 hours**

As always, the Citadel Council Chamber reflected the pristine and elegant design afforded to its reputation. The soaring arches, the panoramic vistas seen through the curved glass windows, the aesthetic placement of indoor trees and rivers, all set against pearly white metal, echoed the culture and the architecture of the Protheans. The perpetual daylight outside shone radiantly throughout the great hall, sparkling where it reflected off the waters of the artificial lake.

The great white trees stood, gnarled and venerable, their amber leaves waving in a nonexistent breeze. The waters flowed gently, a constant, dull roar set as a backdrop to this, a perfect vision of a Prothean summer on Ilos.

A raised dias dominated the scene, at the top of a majestic, sweeping staircase. Upon it, the four Citadel Councilors stood, garbed in fine robes that befitted their elevated station.

The turian councilor scowled intensely, drawing a clawlike finger across his lower mandible in worry. His beady eyes flicked back and forth between his fellow councilors (an asari, a human, and a salarian) and their guests, broadcast into the Chamber by FTL communications.

Doing his best to retain some measure of dignity, he drew himself upright, puffing out his chest and jutting his chin at a jaunty angle, but this only served to heighten his pompous appearance.

The asari had just neared the end of her obligatory introductory speech. "… This marks the meeting between the Citadel Council, the Geth leadership, and Council Spectre Shepard. Council is now in session."

"We reject to these assumptions," stated a holographic representation of a hulking geth. The construct cast its optic receptor about the chamber, clawlike hands by its side. "We are geth. We do not have leadership. We make consensus. We are one."

The turian's scowl deepened. They'd been in talks with this geth ambassador (although the sentient platform blankly refused to submit itself to any such label) for days, and as of now, the only thing these discussions had accomplished had been to award him a murderous headache. If that geth referred to itself in plural again, he swore he'd—

"We have taken note of the unique situation concerning your, erm, government," answered the salarian Councilor, the statement hanging awkwardly without a proper name or title to end the sentence with. "This session is to discuss the potential alliances between the Council and the geth collective." His wide reptillian eyes blinked rapidly as he spoke.

The geth stood silent for an instant, then, "We have made our intentions clear. We offer ceasefire conditions in Citadel space wherever they will be honored. We have not proposed a military alliance, however, with the Citadel government." It made no inflection upon its words, and while an organic might have come across as rude with such a statement, the machine merely sounded very blunt.

With a worried frown that wrinkled the corners of her eyes, the asari councilor interjected. "Council would appreciate a fuller explanation as to the reasons behind this decision, as well as—"

He could grit his teeth no longer. "Isn't it obvious?" the turian snarled. "It's _him_." He gestured sharply at the ghost presence clad in N7 armor. "This is not the first time the Council has noticed the commander's _involvement_ in intergalactic affairs. I motion to have Shepard excluded from this session, if it is to make any progress at all—"

"You have made your opinion of the commander clear, Councilor," admonished the dark-skinned human to his right. "Council deems it both necessary and appropriate for the commander to be privy to this discussion, _especially_ because of its delicate nature." Anderson's voice was polite but stern, his bright eyes piercing the turian as he spoke.

The turian glowered, but said no more. An uncomfortable silence descended upon the chamber for a moment, lasting for so long that the geth representative, oblivious to the tension, inquired, "Have our auditory receptors ceased operating?"

By way of an answer, the asari spoke apologetically, resting her forehead in the palm of her hand. "Council recognizes the geth's desire to speak to Agent Shepard. Although an explanation as to your motivations would be most welcome." Stress was evident in her voice, but it was not unjustified.

Just over three days ago, the Alliance military had put in a call to the Council, saying they had some very _interesting_ news about the geth conflict. However, what had promised to have potential for a successful treaty negotiation had fallen flat on its face. The geth would have nothing to do with all the petty political niceties the Council favored. Their demands had been both simple and singular: "_We desire to converse with Shepard Commander_."

And why was that _not_ a surprise?

Of course, the _Midway_ had been dispatched immediately, when the Council couldn't reach the commander. It had been in their best interests, they now realized, to reinstate Shepard's Spectre status upon his alleged return to life. It paid to have such an influential figure in their corner, whatever his association with the human organization, Cerberus.

"Commander Shepard?" said the salarian. "You are free to speak."

Shepard nodded, glancing away from the Council to acknowledge the other ghostly image. "I'm Commander Shepard. I was told you've been looking for me."

There was silence for a moment, as the geth gathered a consensus. "We have been searching for you, Shepard Commander, for many months. We realized that we had found you once our mobile platform made contact. It has shared its memory with us. It is understood that your actions have removed the Collector threat. Most expedient."

Shepard nodded. "Thanks in no small part to Legion. Without his help, I don't think we would have recovered the Reaper IFF, or made our way through the Collector Station." He smiled politely.

The Council, however, expressed general dismay at this. The asari pinched the bridge of her nose to calm herself. "We would have appreciated some form of update on these occurances, Shepard. Your discovery of further evidence of the Reaper threat would have been most welcome, as well as disclosure on your decision to admit an active geth into your crew." Her mouth was a grim slash of mild distaste.

Anderson, however, grinned openly. "The commander gave us ample warning about the Reapers, Councilor. It was the failure of this Council not to appreciate that. As for his choice in allies, I would say that his judgement has proven sound."

"Even so, this Council feels entitled to updates on the operations of our Spectre agents," reasoned the salarian.

"Not to mention this campaign you and Cerberus have waged against the Collectors, a species whose technology and culture were eradicated by the commander's actions, as well as any possible evidence in relation to these allegations that the _Protheans_ are somehow still alive!" The turian seemed on the verge of a seizure.

"Were, Councilor," Shepard corrected respectfully. "The Reapers had rewritten the Protheans to do their bidding, just like they did to the keepers. There was nothing I could do to save them."

"We will discuss this later. That is not the subject of this meeting," stated the asari. "On the whole, however, if his reports are anything to go by, Shepard is to be commended for his actions."

Anderson grinned almost imperceptibly. The turian fell into silence, seething.

"Agreed," voiced the geth. "Shepard Commander has displayed abnormal levels of tolerance of geth platforms. We have consented to approach the commander with our offer for this reason." It angled its head slightly to appraise Shepard.

"We have analyzed your actions, as opposed to those of the Citadel Council," droned the geth. "While this Council denied the existence of the Old Machines, you destroyed the Heretics' god. Nazara was defeated, and its attempt to bring about its plans was foiled."

"Largely because of the assistance of the Turian Fleet—" began the turian councilor testily, but the geth plowed on.

"While other Citadel species assisted the Alliance in this endeavour, it was ultimately your actions that made this victory possible."

Shepard was silent for a moment, inclining his head slightly. "Without my team, none of it would have happened. I can't take credit for the galaxy's victory."

The asari councilor made a small movement in Shepard's peripheral vision. He couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn it was a nod of approval.

"Regardless, you have proven yourself to be the only organic capable of such extraordinary measures," stated the geth plainly. "Our mobile platform has uploaded much information about your actions and goals. They run parallel with ours."

The councilors shared a quick glance at this. The asari and salarian looked bemused; the turian looked mutinous. He'd started to develop a nasty facial tick, his lower mandible twitching in agitation, but still he held his silence.

Shepard nodded, his eyes expressive even through the poor connection. "I understand, and I'm grateful for your support." He crossed his plated arms across his chest expressively. "You've said that your people are willing to ally with the Alliance. I can't speak for the admirals, but I don't see why not." The commander smiled politely. "I would, however, like to ask the geth to consider a military alliance with the Council."

"Yes!" exclaimed the turian councilor, eagerly seizing this chance. "This Council has argued for the geth collective to join ranks with us, to seek out and destroy this Reaper threat!"

"A threat," began the geth, "That you failed to acknowledge." It took no notice of the murderous expression the turian had adopted. "Our allegiance lies with Shepard Commander, and the human Alliance. We remain willing to cooperate in adopting a ceasefire in Citadel space."

The turian drew breath, swelling up indignantly, but a deadly glance from his asari colleague shut him up quite effectively. Instead, the salarian spoke up tactfully. "Geth, surely you can understand the awkward nature of the proposed alliance. Commander Shepard answers to this council. He is not a figure of leadership."

"He is now," stated the geth with an air of finality. The commander winced in embarrassment. "Shepard Commander represents the qualities of the human race that have earned the geth's respect. He appreciates the gravity of the imminent Reaper invasion from Dark Space, a concept ill-received by this council."

There was an uncomfortable silence for several moments before Shepard spoke up once again. "Geth, as a figure of human— er— leadership," he began lamely, "Would it be within my rights to make a request of my allies?" The geth stared at him mutely, then—

"We deem it logical."

He felt slightly emboldened. "It is my wish that the geth, as allies of humanity, should accept the support and authority of this Council." Shepard attempted a winning smile, but nervous as he was, it came across more as a grimace. There was no way this could possibly work…

The geth remained silent, its faint blue-tinted eye focused on Shepard. Then, at an unbidden signal, it rotated its attention towards the Council, who appeared rather unnerved by its steadfast gaze. For a time it stood silent, apparently studying the politicians.

After thirty seconds, the salarian coughed uncomfortably.

The geth recognized this gesture as a form of communication, and responded matter-of-factly. "We are building a consensus," it stated, as though that settled the matter.

The salarian's expression turned rather sour at being snubbed, but held his silence nevertheless. Further seconds passed, before the geth spoke again.

"We have reached a consensus," it intoned, with a slightly cheerful affectation in its voice. "A supermajority of geth programs has voted in favor of accepting Shepard Commander's proposition. The matter has been decided. The geth are now allied with the Citadel Council."

The turian and asari councilors exchanged bewildered glances at this. "The geth refused this Council's offers of friendship for days now," commented the agitated turian. "Why do they accept Shepard's authority, if not ours?"

The geth appeared confused by the question for a moment. Then it answered slowly, and if the turian hadn't been sure that the sentient machines were above such things, he would have called its tone patronizing. "You are not Shepard Commander."

The turian appeared greatly flustered, while the asari frowned marginally. Councilor Anderson merely smiled. "Excellent. I believe I am correct in assuming that the geth, as allies, would be open to disclosing further information as to their resources?"

"Affirmative."

This got the councilors' attention swiftly, and it was in a distracted, eager sort of way that the salarian informed Shepard that he was free to go. The commander nodded, vanishing almost immediately, leaving them to plan for the coming war.

**Serpent Nebula, Widow, Citadel Space, SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, FTL Comm Room, 1009 hours**

The connection withdrew, and Shepard experienced the familiar disorientation of seemingly teleporting from one location and reappearing, instantaneously, in the _Normandy_'s FTL Comm Room. The harsh, artificial glare thrown off by the overhead fluorescent lighting contrasted sharply with the gentle ambient glow of the Citadel Council Chamber. Blinking furiously, he rubbed his temples for a moment before turning about, making for the door.

_That settles that,_ he mused appreciatively. The geth had accepted the Council, as Shepard had hoped they would. What with the power and the size of the approaching Reaper armada, the Council was going to need all the support it could get. _But the Reapers are still millions of light years away. We have time to draw up a plan. Organize a defense._

The first crucial step, of course, had been getting the Council to acknowledge that the Reapers even existed. You'd think that saving someone's rear from a genocidal sentient machine would be a deciding factor in proving its authenticity, but the Council had been only too happy to turn a blind eye.

He couldn't blame them, he supposed. It was far easier to dismiss such a danger, to proceed as though nothing was wrong. To admit to the galaxy that the Reapers were not only real, but en route to the Milky Way at that very moment would have induced wide-scale panics, riots, disorder. Without proof, the sort of which that beat down your door, it made no sense to believe it. To do otherwise would be political suicide.

But the time for politics was over. If the Reapers did not encounter a unified galaxy, resistance would be minimal. They would purge the galaxy of all sentient life, reactivate the Citadel, and the cycle of extinction would begin again.

The geth had completed this step for him. Their schematics and insider information gathered from their ex-Heretic faction had provided irrefutable evidence of what Shepard had been saying all along. The Reapers were real, murderous, and on their way.

With the Council on his side, the next matter would be allies. The Council boasted some of the largest fleets in the galaxy. That, coupled with the human Alliance, already formed a formidable backbone for the resistance effort. The geth, whose secret fleet reportedly numbered in the tens of thousands of vessels, would greatly swell their ranks.

Shepard frowned slightly. Even so, the geth were still widely feared, the stigma surrounding their existence a matter of grave political consequence. It would be up to the politicians to sell the idea to the public.

No, what had him worried was the quarians' reaction to this. As the creators of the geth, and the primary victims of their violent uprising, the nomadic race would almost certainly fight this decision. That was absolutely unacceptable. While the quarians had been decimated by their machine slaves, the geth had been equally wronged, fighting only for their existence when threatened with destruction by their masters.

Shepard knew, deep down, that they could stand to put their differences aside. It had been nearly three centuries since the Morning War. There was mutual goodwill and a desire for peace between both warring races. He could only hope that enough time had passed for the wounds to heal.

They couldn't stand to lose the quarians. They had the largest fleet in Citadel Space, that was a fact. And despite the weathered and wartorn condition of most of their vessels, the quarians' proud military tradition and technical skill would be invaluable in mounting an opposition. It would be up to people like Tali to accept the geth, and hope for reconciliation.

The thought of Tali caused Shepard to wince visibly. Even now she was sealed in the Med Bay, undoubtably shot full of anesthetics and antibiotics. _That was my fault,_ he realized, berating himself. _That mission was too dangerous. Just to find out the Shadow Broker's coordinates…_ He considered what the price of that knowledge had been and, thinking of Tali lying wounded and helpless, decided that it had been too high.

He hadn't even bothered to check the information against the star charts. Right now, he couldn't care less.

The hatch to the Comm Room cycled open before he could touch it, and through the entryway several bodies shouldered past. Thane took a seat at the far end of the table, his face inscrutable as always; Mordin trotted past, tugging bloody surgical gloves off his hands as he went, a grim but satisfied expression written across his amphibious features; Garrus took a post by the door, arms crossed imposingly, his face torn between anxiety and conviction.

They all eyed Shepard unspeakingly. Confused, Shepard was drawing breath to ask what was going on as a final crewmember entered the room.

It wasn't like Joker to leave his place at the helm. Even with the corrective surgery Cerberus had provided him, walking still proved difficult. His shins creaked ominously as he rested against the tabletop nonchalantly. His appearance more than anything signalled to Shepard that something strange was going on. Glancing from one shipmate to the next, he saw the worry now written across their faces, the uncertainty.

"Something I can help you all with?" he inquired, not exactly nervous by this display, but rather confused.

Garrus appeared to grapple with the desire to speak, but after parting his mouth ineffectively several times, he seemed to decide to leave it to the others. Joker, his usually smug visage uncharacteristically bleak, answered instead. "We're worried about you, Commander. You've been sort of distant since…" He bit his lip, searching for the right words.

Shepard understood. "I know. I've just been out of it since Tali was wounded. If I've given you cause for concern—"

Thane cut across him. "Tali'Zorah is, Doctor Chakwas assures us, making a recovery. No, Shepard, you've been distant for some time now," he finished cryptically.

Shepard knew when someone was beating around the bush. Frowning marginally, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about. And is this really important? We've got a mission to complete," he reminded them, not quite able to keep a note of annoyance out of his voice. He could already sense where this was going.

"Exactly, Shepard," Garrus interjected, finding his voice at last. "The Shadow Broker is closer than he's ever been. With his coordinates, we might just be able to track him down, and find out what he knows about the Reapers." Here he paused, selecting his words carefully. "But that's why we're here. We— Tali and I— have noticed what's been going on with you. You've been sort of… out of it since we met Liara on Illium. Granted, you handled it well at the time, but since we stopped the Collectors, it's started to take its toll on you. Everyone's noticed!" he stated defiantly at Shepard's disbelieving expression.

"You hardly eat," Mordin stated mechanically, in his usual habit of speaking in short, fragmented sentences. "Have clocked less sleep than rest of crew. Increasing periods of time shut in office. Most unhealthy," he concluded, his wide eyes seeming to x-ray Shepard as he delivered his prognosis.

Shepard glanced at the assembled faces, all of them staring unabashed at him. On one hand, he felt gratitude for their concern, but on the other he sincerely wished they would butt out.

"Look," he explained, trying to appear perfectly at ease, "I appreciate this, but there's really nothing bothering me—"

"Damn it, Shepard, don't lie to us!" Garrus barked, frustration evident in his voice.

"Now listen here—"

Shepard had just been drawing breath to chew out the turian, when Joker said quietly, "There's a reason you keep having me plot a course for Illium, Commander." He said it gently, but these words above all others seemed to reach him.

He seemed to deflate, the aggressive posture he had adopted falling away as quickly as it had come. Suddenly Shepard felt shame wash over him for his unprovoked anger, and the temperature of the room seemed to increase tenfold under his friends' steadfast gazes.

There was a momentary silence as everyone seemed at a loss for words, before Garrus spoke up. "Tali and I know what you're going through, Shepard, and the others want to understand. We're worried that your preoccupation with Dr. T'Soni—"

"I do _not_ have a—" Shepard began hotly.

Garrus plowed on as though he couldn't hear him. "—might be interfereing with the mission. It's too important to risk, Shepard. We're all behind you: the Broker has to be caught. It's just… we're not so sure that you can cope with what's been going on." At the livid expression on Shepard's face, he quickly ammended, "But we understand! With everything that's happened, you've suffered worse than any of us. We just think that you need to deal with this emotional baggage, get it out of your system."

Joker shot Garrus a skeptical look that clearly read, _Emotional baggage? Seriously?_ Garrus eloquently made his opinion of the pilot clear with a quick hand gesture.

Shepard swore, turning his back on the group of them for a moment, unable to bear seeing their pitying faces a moment longer. Fixing his attention instead on a brilliant cluster of stars out the viewport, he answered, "You can't expect me to forget about her." He continued to address the stars as he spoke. "She means everything to me, Garrus. I can't just abandon that."

His head hung slightly now, he expected further reproaches, or some assurance that it would be for the best. He wouldn't listen to it. He couldn't listen to it. He had been through too much, _sacrificed_ too much. Without her, what could be worth fighting for?

But the reprimands did not come. Instead, Garrus spoke slowly, taken aback by what he said. "We didn't mean that Shepard."

John turned around, his attention now fixed on the group of them. Thane and Mordin continued to examine him, but suddenly their stares didn't seem so harsh. Garrus's expression was approaching embarassment. Joker's face had split into a mischievous smile.

"What do you mean?"

They all glanced at each other knowingly. "Shepard, don't take this the wrong way, but…" He chewed his lower mandible thoughtfully for a moment, then proceeded. "Tali found out about Liara. I mean, _everything_." He smiled guiltily. "She was just a kid when we fought Saren, she had no idea what was going on between you two. Well, she put two and two together and figured out what was causing you so much grief. She… decided to take matters into her own hands," he finished uncomfortably.

Shepard couldn't stop a thin smile from breaking out across his face. Arching an eyebrow in curiosity, he asked, "What did she do?"

"Well, it was all very well thought out. She left us in your cabin, a little indisposed, and…" He struggled to find a euphemism for it, but failing that, said, "She sort of… _stole_ your contact list from your terminal. And she, well," his clawed foot kicked the deck unconsciously as he crossed his arms innocently behind his back. "Sent a message to Liara. Tali asked her to contact you again, told her what was going on."

At Shepard's blank expression, Garrus quickly corrected himself. "Of course, I had no idea, and I told her afterward how irresponsible that was. I've always said, never stick your sensor probe where it doesn't belong, but—"

But he had misread Shepard's shocked state. Suddenly, and much to everyone's confusion, the commander began to laugh. It wasn't a harsh or cruel sound, but rather kind and very, very amused.

"Tali did that?" he asked, amazed. Renewed feelings of fondness for the young quarian surged through him. "I didn't know how Liara got this address."

Realizing that Shepard wasn't going to blow a gasket, Garrus quickly changed his tune. "That's right. Of course, I've always been telling her that something needed to be done." He puffed his chest up proudly, giving himself an uncanncy resemblance to the turian councilor.

Shepard remained stunned by this incredible act of friendship Tali had performed. Almost immediately, however, his happiness was buried beneath renewed pangs of guilt over her current condition. His bright smile flickered, and he appeared disconsolate once again. "What then," he asked, returning to the subject of this unforeseen meeting, "Do you suggest I do?"

Joker smirked in an all-knowing manner that made Shepard want to knock his teeth out. "Well, Commander, you said it yourself: no way will forgetting about your — er—," he paused, apparently weighting the possible dangers of ribbing the commander, but seemed to decide it was worth it. "_Sweetheart_ help you get over this. And since we've decideded that we'd much rather have a commander who wasn't sobbing over a picture when under enemy fire, pinned down in a hostile location with nothing but the heroic skills of our valiant helmsman to save us—"

With a look from his fellows that could have melted armor-plating, Joker coughed once and finished simply, "Well, suffice it to say that we feel that the team, as it is, isn't fully qualified for the mission." Joker glanced about shiftily. "We need a specialist. Someone with a background in Prothean information… data-gathering… _stuff_." He was clearly improvising on the fly here. "Hmm," he wondered aloud, his acting criminally obvious. "Anyone we know who can help us there?"

Shepard glanced in rapid succession at each of their now grinning faces (even Thane, the textbook definition of stoic, had cracked a small smirk). He couldn't believe his eyes as Garrus raised his hand, his play-acting reminding Shepard irresistably of a schoolchild.

"Yes, Mr. Vakarian?" Joker smarmed patronizingly.

"I nominate Dr. Liara T'Soni."

"I'll second that," Joker called out, as Shepard tried to get a word in edgewise.

"But—"

"All in favor?" There was an overwhelming display of hands.

"That's all very nice, but I think—"

"Too late, Commander. We're deciding this, for the good of the ship. Consider this a mutiny," Joker quipped.

Shepard could only shake his head. "Listen," he called out to the, a tired smile working at the corners of his mouth. "I really appreciate this, but there's no way it could work. With the mission, and everything else, I don't think we could find the time."

"I beg to differ, Shepard," Garrus chuckled.

"How's that?" He couldn't help but feel both exasperated and amused at the same time.

"EDI's already dialing," Joker finished triumphantly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Crescent Nebula, Tasale System, Planet Illium, Nos Astra Docks, SSV **_**Midway**_**, 1045 hours**

This was certainly a day for surprises.

Liara stood in the FTL Comm Room of the _Midway_, on the left-hand-side of Captain Shepard, while Ashley took the right. Occasionally, over the last few hours while they had awaited word from the Council and Shepard, the two young females had taken to shooting deadly glances at one another.

Now word had reached them, directly from Councilor Anderson. It was a brief message, as the former Alliance captain was, no doubt, quite absorbed in the geth peace talks.

_Shepard just vouched for us. The geth are officially allies of the Council. Mission accomplished, Captain. Anderson out._

Ashley had displayed some surprise at this, but Liara knew better than to doubt Shepard's ability. He was an influential political figure, even to the geth, whether he liked it or not.

"The Council won't be able to go public with this for a while. It will take time to get things sorted out." Captain Shepard mused. Her eyes, so like Shepard's, were trained on her Gunnery Chief as she spoke, who stood at rapt attention, her face unreadable. "Chief Williams, notify the crew to prep the _Midway_ for a jump to Alliance Command. Navigator Murray will be needing input to plot our mass effect route. See to it that he receives word." Turning to Liara, she began, "Now, Miss T'soni, we'll be needing to escort you back—"

"_Joker_—_?_"

The captain and Liara directed their attention at Williams. Ashley's expression seemed rather distant, confused. Her eyes had widened significantly.

"Joker?" the captain snapped, now equally perplexed and rather irked. "I said Murray, Williams."

Ashley merely responded by pointing mutely ahead with a gloved finger, speechless. Glancing in that direction, Liara nearly swore in shock.

A small congregation of holographic presences had gathered before them, unnoticed by any of them until now. Flickering dimly, a human, turian, salarian and drell observed them silently. Liara recognized the smug grin written across the human's face at once.

"Glad to know you're so pleased to see us." Beneath the white ballcap perched on his head, Joker's dark eyes twinkled roguishly. He seemed to be enjoying Ashley's astonishment greatly.

"You— but—" Ashley seemed incapable of expressing herself properly. Screwing up her eyes in effort, she finally mastered her twisted tongue. "I thought you were grounded, Lieutenant."

The use of a rank seemed to catch Hannah's attention. "Lieutenant? You're Alliance, are you?" She seemed rather offended that the helmsman had materialized in her comm room without her consent. "How did you access this channel?"

"Two questions, same answer: Cerberus." Joker grinned maliciously. He was quite enjoying himself.

"_Cerberus?_" Joker might have let slip a foul swearword.

"That's right, ma'am. Jeff Moreau, ex-Alliance and proud of it." Now that he had the ear of an Alliance officer, Joker seemed eager to vent some of his pent-up frustrations. "Alliance grounded me two years ago, as Ash over there was so kind to bring up." He gestured with his thumb at Ashley, who seemed embarrassed to have her name brought up in this discussion. "Figured I'd go somewhere I'd do some good."

Hannah's expression was lethal. "How dare you—"

"Sorry, Captain. Can't seem to hear you." Joker mimed cleaning out his ear with a finger. "Connection's real bad and all." He absently pretended to groom his fingernails.

"I am Alliance Captain Hannah Shepard, and—"

At mention of the last name, Joker's smug grin was wiped clean off his unshaven face. Blanching, he stuttered, "S-Shepard?" He cursed under his breath.

Hannah seemed pleased by the effect her name had worked. "That's right, Alliance military. Now will you kindly tell me what you're doing, Mr. Moreau?"

Joker seemed like a child caught in the act of stealing from a cookie jar. "Well, the fact of the matter is…" he began, rubbing his neck apprehensively, suddenly cowed. "It's really quite funny—"

The captain wasn't laughing. Joker seemed to loose all courage now, and merely made a weak squeaking noise.

The turian in the background snorted. Liara suddenly recognized her former shipmate, Garrus. Stepping forward, he pushed Joker out of the limelight and stated plainly, "We'd like to talk to Liara T'soni, Captain."

Hannah's face had grown slightly sour at this unprofessional display, but a sort of grudging respect for the turian displayed itself at his formality. "What is your name, turian?"

"Garrus Vakarian. I'm part of Shepard's crew."

Now it was the captain's turn to look thunderstruck. After a moment, she regained herself. "So," she began in a soft, clipped, dangerous voice. "My son commands a Cerberus vessel?"

"That's right, ma'am." Garrus seemed to sense he had entered dangerous waters; Joker just appeared thankful that Shepard was the one in trouble now, but still kept his head bowed in submission. "But he's not with Cerberus, if that's what's worrying you. Shepard always insists they're just funding our work." A stillness descended on the scene. Garrus shuffled his feet uncomfortably for a moment, before nodding to Ashley to break the silence. "It's good to see you, Williams."

Ashley spared the turian a curt not of recognition.

"And who might you all be?" Hannah addressed the others. "Cerberus crew?"

The salarian responded kindly, while the drell (who Liara rather thought looked like Kolyat) shook his head. "Shepard's, not Cerberus."

The captain didn't appear greatly relieved, but the deadly edge had left her voice. Feeling the approach of a migraine, she rubbed her temples with her fingertips as she spoke. "Dr. T'soni? I believe this call is for you." She seemed barely able to tolerate this strange display.

Nodding, Liara stepped forward into view of the turian and his cohorts. "What's going on, Garrus?" Despite the peculiar nature of this conversation, she couldn't help but smile at the familiar face.

Garrus grinned back, and Liara noticed for the first time the lower right portion of his mandibles had been savaged. Dried blood coated the scaly surface, but it seemed that the wound was quite old. A cybernetic patch covered half of his neck in its entirety.

Before she could ask, he seemed to sense her question. "It's nothing," he assured her. "Now, Liara…" He seemed to struggle to find the right words. "We called you for a reason," he began falteringly.

Ashley laughed derisively. "Really?" She seemed to resent that the call from Shepard's crew hadn't been placed for her.

Liara paid her no mind. "Go on."

The turian nodded, emboldened, and forged ahead. "We'd like you to come back."

This statement was met with absolute silence. Liara's blue eyes glanced at each of the holographic ghosts in turn, stunned. Finally, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Come back?" she asked simply.

"Shepard needs you, Liara." Ashley and Hannah glanced away uncomfortably at this. Garrus, however, went on. "Everyone knows it. We've decided to take matters into our own hands. The crew's inviting you to join us."

Her heart leapt. It was everything she had ever hoped for. And yet, she felt a nagging doubt. Was this really what she needed? The Goddess knew it was what she _wanted_, but what would become of her work? What of the years she had spent?

_What about the Shadow Broker?_

Again, Garrus displayed a strange knack for reading her thoughts. "Shepard has his coordinates."

Ashley and the captain shared significant glances at this cryptic statement, but to Liara it made all too much sense.

Ice water rushed through her body, and now her heartfelt desire to rejoin Shepard was coupled with her ambition to find the elusive Broker, the being who had evaded her for so long. A sickening combination of joy and hatred seized her. Flustered, she placed her hand to her face, amazed to discover it was so hot when her heart felt so cold.

For a time she stood there, unmoving. Finally, glancing up, she saw the expression of apprehension on Garrus's face, and the way the salarian and drell glanced nervously at each other. They thought she was going to turn them down.

In truth, she didn't know what she was going to do. Did she really want to lead Shepard on this mission, urge him on to certain danger in hunting the Shadow Broker? Did she want that for herself? For him?

Lost for words, she noticed something stir out of the corner of her eye. She directed her attention at the meek presence of Joker, whose eyes remained humbly fixed on the floor. Had she imagined it?

Then she saw it, the tiniest nod, an almost imperceptible _Yes_. Joker's eyes flicked up to join Garrus in appraising the asari. She glanced between the two faces of her old friends.

Suddenly she knew where she belonged.

"Captain," Liara said, her lips curving into a sly smile. Joker and Garrus leaned forward hopefully.

"Doctor?"

"Could you be so kind as to plot a course for the _Normandy_?"

**Serpent Nebula, Widow, Citadel Space, SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Crew Deck, 1243 hours**

Shepard sat in the galley, taking his time as he contemplated the whorls in the grain of the wooden dining table. He traced his finger along them absently, quite bored. There wasn't much to do. He'd occupied himself for the past hour keeping a silent watch over Tali at the nearby Med Bay, and after Dr. Chakwas's umpteenth insistence that he go and rest, seated himself in the dining hall.

He hadn't heard from Garrus and his small party of self-proclaimed mutineers. They had ushered him swiftly out of the Comm Room, Garrus employing a little muscle when it was needed, and had subsequently locked him out. Joker facetiously called it 'comandeering the ship,' and they had ignored his protests as they placed a call to the Alliance ship _Midway_.

Eventually they'd filed out, as though nothing had happened. His attempts to engage them in conversation were futile, as they all seemed to have gone temporarily deaf, and Shepard soon learned to give up the interrogation as a bad job.

So he was reduced to lounging about the Crew Deck, taking it in turn to check up on Tali and wonder what in hell those idiots had told his mother. All he knew was, Joker was obstinately refusing to move the ship, insisting that a matter of intergalactic importance was going on, and it had taken precedence over anything Shepard ordered. When asked who had ordered this, he had been treated to a long-winded story about the orders coming from Councilors Moreau and Vakarian.

He'd insisted that the _Normandy_ remain in its position. With a sinking feeling in his stomach as Shepard considered what exactly they had arranged with the _Midway_, he accepted the inevitable, for the entire crew seemed adamant on this issue.

Rising from his seat, he paced aimlessly about, taking in the calm, abient glow of the ship interior. Across from the mess hall, the _Normandy_'s modest kitchen stood, tucked into an alcove. Shepard caught sight of Mess Sergeant Gardner hard at work, bent over a large tureen filled with some unidentifiable clear substance.

With nothing better to do, Shepard leaned up casually against a bulkhead with the Cerberus emblem printed across it (the logo had been strangely resistant toward all attempts to scrub it off). The commander contented himself for a time with watching the balding sergeant at work, continually adding sparse ingredients to the now bubbling solution, which had begun to discharge an unpleasant, distinctly orange smoke. As Gardner dispersed the fumes with a wave of his towel, coughing, Shepard felt silently thankful that he wasn't remotely hungry.

Eventually, Gardner took it as an omen when the stew began to issue sulfurous sparks that hissed on contact with the cooking surface and burned a hole in his apron. Seizing a small vial from a sealed cannister marked BIOHAZARDOUS WASTE NEUTRALIZING AGENT, he hastily doused the mixture, emptying the bottle into its tar-like depths, relief breaking across his panic-stricken face.

With a faint grin, Shepard decided to leave Gardner to it. As he turned the corner toward the elevator, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the ship's cook swatting at a fire that had leapt up across the surface of the tempermental mixture (which had now achieved a violently purple pigmentation) with the smouldering remains of his ladle.

**Engineering Deck, 1257 hours**

Emerging from the lift, Shepard heard EDI chime "Engineering Deck, Shepard" in an apologetic tone. He smiled disbelievingly as he disembarked; he still hadn't forgiven her for her involvement in Joker's conspiracy.

The hall leading from the elevator was empty. Shepard walked across the metal grille flooring, passing the stairs that led to the ship's lowest levels. Ahead, the hatch into the main Engine Room stood, and beyond it he could hear the clamor of activity.

Eyebrows slightly furrowed in curiosity, Shepard approached the barrier, rapping the metal once with his fist. There was a sound of cycling mechanisms, and the doorway buzzed open.

The Engine Room, normally quite silent and deserted, was now a center of activity. Engineers and technicians crowded the chamber, at least eight in total. At the center of the commotion, Engineers Daniels and Donnelly presided over the crowd, handing out spare parts and shouted orders as their assistants took off to retrieve what they had been tasked with.

Most were too busy to notice the commander enter the room. Ken had just buried his head inside a storage container, rummaging for some mislaid piece of equipment, while a group of technicians had huddled about a small breathing apparatus, tinkering. Mutters of "Need a fresh filter here," and "Anyone got some omni-gel?" reached Shepard's ears as he picked his way through the mechanical carnage.

Glancing up from her work, Gabby spotted the commander trying to catch her eye, and walked over, taking care to step around a large array of twisted metal lying on a piece of oily tarp. Wiping down a busted air scrubber, she nodded cordially. "Anything I can help you with, Commander?"

Shepard gave the room a quick once-over, asking, more curious than anything, "Care to tell me what's going on, Daniels?"

Her expression grew grim. "We heard about what happened to Tali, Commander. I'm so sorry."

He felt the now-familiar sensation of ice water being dumped into his stomach, but paid it no mind. "Doctor Chakwas says she's holding up just fine."

Gabby scowled off into the distance as she spoke. "Don't worry, Commander. She's not alone. Tali's got friends here. Kenneth just about dropped a power coupling when he found out what happened." The engineer turned her face to address him directly. "We've taken it upon ourselves to help Tali get back on her feet, so she can make those Broker agents pay."

Ken, his upper torso still submerged within the crate, let out a muffled, "Damn straight!" Gabby couldn't help but smile.

"You should go talk to the boss."

Slightly confused about what they were doing to help, Shepard glanced around the room once again, and noticed for the first time two figures in the small observation area that fed into EDI's main drive core. Nodding to Daniels, he made his way over.

One figure crouched over another, which lay still, obscured from Shepard's view. Legion kept his back to the commander, metallic hands working across the prone form with mechanical precision, extracting tortured pieces of metal and fabric. The chamber was bathed in a soft blue glow by his single eye, which never deviated from its work.

At long last the synthetic drew back, calling out, "We require another breach patch." It was then Shepard caught a glimpse of what the geth had been slaving away at.

For a single, heart-stopping instant, he saw Tali, as if dead, sprawled upon the floor. All sound in the room seemed to deaden, and for all Shepard knew he was standing in vacuum once again. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Then his senses came back to him. _Tali's not dead. She's in the Med Bay. Then what—?_

Finally he realized that the suit lay slack, punctured, like a marionette with its strings cut. One arm was bent at an impossible angle. Through the once-grisly hole (now picked clean) it was obvious that the suit was empty.

So this was what Gabby had meant: the engineers, under Legion's direction, had taken it upon themselves to repair Tali's exo-suit. Gratitude washed over him. A warm smile broke out across his face, and he knelt beside Legion, who afforded him the courtesy of glancing up from his work, although his fingers continued their task.

"Shepard Commander. You spoke with the Collective. We reached consensus. We are pleased."

Shepard nodded, recalling how the geth had been so quick to accept his judgement, and realizing just how strange this whole situation was. "Glad I could help. I hope the quarians are as willing to talk as your Collective."

Legion interlocking head flaps rose marginally, moving somewhat like eyebrows. Shepard had to contain a smirk at the striking similarity. The geth continued to operate upon Tali's damaged suit, his fingers performing tasks that would have required multiple tools for a human engineer.

After a moment, he intoned, "The creators fear our kind. Our kind mistrusts the creators. If we were to come into direct interaction, it would only end in violence. It is a centuries-old conclusion. And while the geth have accepted the possibility of peaceful coexistence, the creators will attack our people whenever they feel the outcome is in their favor. It is only their fear of our numbers that contributes to their respect for our borders."

Legion seemed to have given this some thought. Before Shepard could muster a response, the synthetic droned on. "If a single geth were to peacefully inhabit a region otherwise uninhabited by geth or creators, alone and without support, and the creators knew of its existence, they would perform what they would justify as a preemptive strike. Where one geth dwells, they cannot abide it, even if the region is unsuited to organics."

He made a valid point, and Shepard couldn't ask for Legion to hope for the quarians to embrace their better nature. Such a thing was beyond a geth. "It must be very difficult for your people," was all he could say.

"You must understand, Shepard Commander," Legion specified, "All non-Heretic geth activities have always been in our own self-preservation. We fight only when it is necessary to protect ourselves. Otherwise, we disassociate our kind from organics.

"Many geth programs feel a connection to our creators even still, despite their tendency to subjugate our kind. Attempts to communicate have been met with open hostility. And while the creators blame our race for their current state, it is their relentless, reckless hate that is their undoing. We can think of few examples of creator goodwill."

Here Shepard saw an answer to Legion's cynicism. "What about Tali? She was raised in the Migrant Fleet just like any other quarian, and she's accepted the possibility of peace."

At this, Legion's gaze returned to the inert suit. Legion remained conspicuously quiet, his hands now focusing on the lining of the visor, which Shepard knew to be intact. "You're worried about her, aren't you?"

The geth did not respond for a time, merely continued to fuss over Tali's flawless visor. Finally, it noted, "We are geth. We do not feel fear as you do. However…" The geth let the sentence dangle, the pause for consensus so similar to an awkward silence.

"We now think we can estimate what fear is to us."

Shepard paused to consider the significance of this statement, and, unable to respond to it without feeling distinctly tactless, he encouraged Legion. "She's going to be fine."

"We know."

The commander patted the geth reassuringly on the shoulder armor (which had once been part of his own hardsuit), but the gesture was needless: Legion could not feel it. Taking the extended silence as an end to the subject, the geth took up the thread of conversation again, seeking a different topic.

"Your crew has proven most helpful in this project," he stated pleasantly. "We are grateful. They have been almost as concerned as—" There was a momentary silence. Obviously, a majority had just voted in terminating the sentence. Then, "Data lost. Our apologies, Shepard."

He smiled understandingly, rising.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"Negative, Shepard Commander. We have everything under control." The geth now busied itself applying a thin, silvery substance to the breach, which immediately began to solidify and seal the rupture. The omni-gel worked quickly as a temporary patch for the damage, a foundation for further repairs to me made upon. For a moment Legion made a curious stuttering sound as he worked, obviously communicating nonverbally with the ship's computer.

Turning away, Shepard exited the room, passing through the hustle and bustle of the frantic technicians. Just as he reached the exit, he glanced a final time over his shoulder at where Legion sat.

The geth had ceased working for the moment. Its blue eye stood locked on the shining purple visor. A metallic palm rested upon the empty glove with (was Shepard imagining this?) all the tenderness of one who held the hand of a sick friend.

Shepard's face flushed, and he was assaulted with the ridiculous notion that he was spying on something indecent. Shaking his head, he exited the room, stepping into the lift once more.

Gabby was right: Tali had good friends.

Smiling faintly, he called out to the open air as the elevator hummed to life. "EDI? Can you run a systems check for me?"

The AI's response was instantaneous. Evidently she was more than willing to make up for her part in Joker's scheme. "Affirmative, Shepard. What would you like to inquire into?"

Now his grin turned shrewd. "Have there been any other inquiries into Tali's status, besides my own?"

EDI hesitated. Where she had been quite confident before, now a note of trepidation entered her voice. "I am not sure what you mean."

"Oh, I'm sure you do, EDI," he answered knowingly. "It would have been recent. By faster-than-light communication…" he baited.

He could almost hear EDI weighing her options. After several seconds' silence, she finally muttered. "Legion has repeatedly checked on Tali'Zorah's status via FTL communication. Do you have a problem with that?" she added somewhat scathingly in the geth's defense.

Shepard arched his eyebrows in mild surprise and amsuement, but once more lapsed into silence.

_Good friends indeed_.

"Thanks, EDI. What's our status?" he added as an afterthought.

"We continue to idle in Citadel space, Shepard," EDI recited, grateful for the reprieve. "I had to activate the fire control system on the Crew Deck several minutes ago. Minimal damage. No casualties. Gardner's soup," she explained, before he could ask.

Shaking his head disbelievingly, he asked, "Anything else?"

"No significant change in Tali'Zorah's medical status, and… That's curious."

Shepard froze as he stepped off the lift into the command center. Wincing apprehensively, he asked through gritted teeth, "What's curious?"

EDI seemed just as bemused as the commander. "It would seem Jeff— er— Mr. Moreau has established a hailing frequency. He's attempting to [DATA UNAVAILABLE]."

Now completely thunderstruck, Shepard about-faced towards EDI's local avatar. Her spherical representation hovered just as usual. She spoke, and it was as if nothing was wrong. "My apologies, Shepard," she stated, her purple hue flashing white to emphasize each syllable. "It must be another Cerberus block. I was sure they had all been removed." She seemed disturbed by this, then went on. "What I was trying to say is that Mr. Moreau [DATA UNAVAILABLE]." Her previously white 'mouth' had flashed a violent red at these words.

Alarmed, Shepard asked, "EDI? What's going on?"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," she remarked fussily. "It seems that Jeff has accessed my mainframe and prevented me from warning you. He shouldn't be able to do that."

A sense of calm stole over him as he realized it was just another of Joker's pranks. "I'll go talk to him."

"It's too late, Shepard. He's won."

"What?"

EDI didn't seem to hear him, and now proclaimed loudly to what Shepard knew to be the entire ship, "_Normandy_ crew, stand by for friendly boarding. SSV _Midway_ inbound."

Joker's laughter echoed down the length of the bridge, and before Shepard could do more than allow shock to register across his face, there was a great _clang!_, followed by the sound of an airlock sealing between two vessels.


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N: Remember, I modified Chapter One's description of Miranda and Jacob to a more positive review. Also, know that I have already written most of this story _prior_ to the release of _Lair of the Shadow Broker_ today. Playing it merely gave me the will to update. My story's plotline has not been affected by the Downloadable Content's release, and I hope your interest remains steadfast. I can promise you a much happier ending. And a sequel about the Reapers. Read on, and please, please don't hesitate to review!_**

**_And be sure to vote in my newest profile poll, which decides what currently unused squadmate from ME2 will be returning in Part II! Keep an eye out for more story-influencing polls, including the Fate of Feron, coming soon!_**

**Serpent Nebula, Widow, Citadel Space, SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2/SSV **_**Midway**_** Airlock, 1312 hours**

It was when the airlock finally cycled open that he saw her.

Her beautiful face wore a look of reckless abandon; her lips recalled a smile they had long since forgotten; her azure eyes met his own, an alluring gaze paralyzing him. For the longest time, all was still. There was nothing else that mattered.

Finally, she cast her eyes away in embarrassment, breathless. She had attained a marvellous indigo complexion. He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe at all, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore. She had returned. What more could he desire?

At long last, she took a tentative step off the ramp, into the soft light of the _Normandy_ bridge. Her eyes flicked up hesitantly, and her expression flushed further as she realized he had never torn his gaze away. Closer she came, and her excited breath was his only air.

Liara halted inches away from Shepard. The asari stood with a strange, awkward grace, an attractive evening gown draped over her slender form. The commander gave a rugged grin to match her dazzling smile.

A blue hand rested upon his chest tenderly. He took her other in his own. And, for what seemed the first time in a lifetime, they kissed.

The galaxy was at peace. There was nothing to fear. There never had been. How could there be danger, how could there be _anything_, in the universe beyond their own private heaven? There were no Reapers. The Shadow Broker was a memory. All that was real to him was the feel of her body against his own, her reassuring arms entwined about him.

He felt her warm breath on his neck as she broke the kiss just long enough to whisper into his ear softly, teasingly, "Did you miss me?"

Neither knew just how long they stood there, embracing, basking in their love. Neither cared. Eventually, however, they became aware of many eyes upon them, and the spell was broken.

Drawing their lips apart, they did not break their embrace, but rather turned their heads to see the congregation that had gathered around them. Cerberus crew seemed to have come out of the woodwork, materializing in a semicircle behind them. A group of crewmen paid rapt attention, far more interested in the show than their station readouts. One officer had slopped steaming coffee down his front, but he didn't seem to mind.

In the cockpit, Joker had rotated his chair to face the excitement, accompanied by the holopresence of EDI. The helmsman wore a look of manic glee, his unshaven face sporting a toothy grin.

There was a stunned silence. Shepard and Liara seemed to be the only ones truly aware of their surroundings. And painfully aware they were.

Someone wolf-whistled.

Instantly, the deck was alive with chatter. Groups of men broke their intent study to smirk cruelly at each other. Several women bowed their heads together in gossip.

Shepard had never realized just how hot the overhead lights were. Liara drew a hand across her face self-consciously. Simultaneously wincing in embarrassment, they struggled to disentangle themselves from each other, a difficult feat due to the fact that one of his arms had caught on her dress. A shameless guffaw resonated from Joker's direction.

Face reddening, Shepard had just been brainstorming ideas of where to send Joker on a permanent shore leave when another body stepped off the exit ramp.

Clad in an imposing naval uniform, the captain stood clear of the entryway, completely at odds with her surroundings. Unyielding in appearance, the Alliance officer wore her graying hair in a tight bun, a naval cap affixed atop her head. Her eyes, while warm and kind in nature, were now deadly slits as she stood in the midst of such needless frivolity. Hands clasped behind her back primly, she strode, dignified, past the crewmen, who instinctively piped down, sensing authority. Several unlucky souls failed to notice Captain Shepard's entrance, and received a look that might have melted diamonds.

Silence immediately fell once more, respectful this time, rather than shocked. Heads bowed as though hoping to escape her attention, the crew seemed to vanish faster than they had arrived, leaving Shepard and Liara virtually alone.

Hannah's attention shifted to the scrawny helmsman seated nearby, mouth half-open where the laughter had died in his throat. Joker seemed to writhe under her lethal gaze. Evidently she hadn't forgotten him. Seeming to shrink in his seat, the pilot gave another small squeak, and turned away from the scene.

A wry smile bent the corner of her lips as she admired her effect on the unfortunate helmsman, but only for a moment. Turning to the last duo left standing, her expression became hard and inscrutable once more. For a moment Shepard found himself wishing he'd followed Hadley's suit and ducked out through a maintenance shaft.

Then he felt the gentle pressure of Liara's fingers wrapped around his own, and he couldn't help but smile. Everything was going to be fine.

Hannah said nothing, merely approached inexorably. She tilted her head back appraisingly, eyes examining the couple. Face hot, Shepard found himself thinking fondly of the crew's gossiping and catcalling.

But he held his mother's gaze, unblinking. Unconsciously, he drew Liara closer to himself.

This seemed to get the captain's attention. Nostrils flaring in a way that Shepard had learned in his childhood signified trouble, the captain glanced back and forth between her son and the asari, lips drawn tight.

Finally, the silence was broken. The captain seemed to give permission to breathe at last as she drew a deep breath herself. Shepard braced himself for the bombardment.

"Commander. At a first glance, I'd say that your crew is not up to disciplinary standards. I suggest you employ more rigid means of discipline."

Shepard was slightly taken aback. "What?" he couldn't help but ask, a sense of anticlimax creeping over him. This was it?

"Your crew, Commander," the captain stated with an air of mild disinterest. "I suggest you take a harder line with them. That should be sufficient to discourage _unmilitary_ behavior." Her tone wasn't particularly dangerous. She was giving an evaluation.

Liara seemed to relax marginally, but Shepard knew better. Captain Hannah Shepard was known throughout the fleet for being a stickler for discipline. As a mother, she had been no different. She'd never been afraid to voice criticism about something that didn't sit well with her. Yet here she was, ignoring the obvious issue and nitpicking everything else.

"Mo— Captain," Shepard began cautiously, "Is something wrong?"

The captain's eyebrows rose critically. "Of course something is wrong, Commander. As an Alliance officer, it is my duty to present my evaluation of a vessel to its commander. I take issue with your crew's attitude." She seemed to address the open air, as though issuing a statement.

He was missing something here, he knew it. She'd said _As an Alliance officer_. It wasn't like his mother to speak in riddles.

"And what about as yourself?" he asked, nervous but somehow inexplicably amused.

Hannah Shepard's dignified expression seemed to waver, and she glanced once more at Shepard. Her eyes had lost their hard, flinty quality, and her mouth bore the faintest of warm smiles.

"I'd say you have a damn fine ship, John. While I may not agree with your choice of crew—"

Her gaze shot into the cockpit, where Joker had been gradually inching his chair about to view the impending drama. The seat promptly snapped back into place.

"—I can see that you know what you're doing," Hannah continued, her face curiously devoid of scorn. "And I respect your decisions. _All_ of them." There was that smile again. Barely there, and only for a second. He might have imagined it.

John's eyes widened, his expression one of complete surprise. His mother had never been one for gushy sentiment, except at medal presentations and while watching Earth (and, although she'd court-martial him for saying so, turian) soap operas. Otherwise, this was about as close as she ever got.

Was this… acceptance?

Liara was still figuring things out. For all of her menacing plans and abilities, Liara still reminded Shepard of the archeologist within as she asked in that endearingly confused way of hers, "Captain, I don't understand. How does the state of the _Normandy_ relate to this? Isn't it obvious that the issue at hand is my relationship with your son?"

Hannah cast the asari a glance, not pointed or critical, but, incredibly, warm. "You're hopeless, you know that, right?" She laughed pleasantly, her steely eyes bright with affection.

Shepard and Liara glanced between each other, thunderstruck. "I… but…" Liara began, disbelieving. "You're… happy?"

The commander said nothing. What more could be said? A sense of euphoria crept over him and, with a grin, he strode forward and pulled his mother into a warm embrace. The captain hugged her son back for a brief while, then, pushed him away gently. "Go on," she bid him, teasingly. "You've got someone else to hug now."

This was too much to hope for. Still reeling, Shepard was only conscious of the glowing look of pride on his mother's face, and the light touch of Liara's hands as they drew around him once again. Turning his head, he gazed into her radiant sapphire eyes before they rested their heads upon the other's, cheeks side-by-side.

A tender movement as her face drew alongside his. A whisper, her lips tickling his ear. The rhythm of her excited breathing and the reassuring pounding of her heart were a symphony of perfection, and nothing else mattered as she said, softly, "_I love you_."

They drew apart, but their hands held fast. Liara was aglow.

Together, the couple returned their attentions to the Alliance captain, without shame or fear. "Thank you, Mother," was all Shepard could muster.

Hannah shrugged, and although her face smiled, she seemed to shrink, her posture weakening slightly. John had another woman in his life now. That was a sobering thought.

Liara noticed this, and sympathetically she smiled at the officer. She wanted to say something, anything, to comfort her, but the words were slow in coming. _What do I call her, now? Shepard? Hannah?_ With a mental pause, she marvelled, hardly daring to think it: _Mother?_

Not since Benezia's death had she called anyone by that name. Liara had spent much of her life without a parent, anyway, and she'd never known her mother's bondmate. And now, she so longed to express that love for a parent, something she'd been denied her whole life.

But she decided it best not to rush things. "Captain," she began, kindly, "What exactly changed your mind about me?" Shepard turned his focus away from Liara in curiosity.

Hannah locked eyes with the young woman, and an unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them. They both loved the same man. Liara realized, with a start, that they would have to share that love.

Still, the captain answered. "I'm not much of a fan of aliens, Liara. Never was. I confess, when Williams told me what happened between you and my son," (Shepard cast Liara an alarmed glance here) "I sent Kolyat after you so I could chew you out in person. You were a nonhuman, and you were with John. I figured your ass was mine."

Shepard interrupted with a quick, "Sorry, already taken." An appreciative bark of laughter sounded from the bridge. He winced visibly when he realized who he was talking to. Liara spared him a quick, sly grin.

Hannah decided to let it slide. Most unlike her.

"Like I was saying," she reiterated, while Shepard tried to make himself disappear, "When I met you, I was doubly sure. Here was some blue girl trying to steal my boy away from me. But then I talked to you, and even when I tried to intimidate you, you stood up to me. You showed me your…" Hannah paused momentarily. Perhaps she wasn't completely at peace with the reality of things, but she was trying. "…Love for my son was more than some cheap thrill. And then I realized, John didn't love you because you're an asari. He loves you because you're _you_."

Liara's mouth parted in a slight gasp, and once again she was overwhelmed with affection for the aging human. Hannah smiled, and Shepard managed to overcome his shame to say, turning to face Liara, "She's right. I'd still love you if you were human, or turian, or krogan…" He paused, and seemed to think things over. With a joking tone, he amended, "Okay, maybe not krogan. But the point is, I love you for who you are. You know that, right?" His hand brushed along her head fringe tenderly as he spoke.

Her smile was wider than ever as she replied, her eyes softening, "I know. She laid her head upon his chest, shutting her eyes peacefully. Everything felt just so… _right_.

After another of their endless hugs threatened to live up to its name, Hannah said sheepishly, "Come on now, you two. My sentimentality's running out fast. Shape up or I'll hit you with a charge of conduct unbecoming an officer, Commander." Reluctantly, they broke apart, but allowed the fingers of one set of hands to caress each other.

Hannah ignored this too. _Hell, I'm getting too soft._ But she nodded professionally, glad to have the matter behind them. John may have found his happiness, but there were other matters to attend to. All business now, she began crisply, "Commander, I believe congratulations are in order. The Council has accepted the existence of the Reaper threat, although I'm not sure they relished doing so." Her eyes travelled once more about the _Normandy_ interior. "I would like to speak with you about your plans, Shepard. The Council, not to mention the Alliance, will be wanting you to return soon. You put things in motion, but I'm afraid they're not finished with you yet."

Shepard felt a stab of guilt. He couldn't reveal the mission's objectives, not even to his own mother. To do so would risk compromising the entire operation. He trusted Hannah Shepard implicitly, but who knew what information could be stolen from inactive omni-tools, or heard from whisperings between friends who thought themselves alone. The Shadow Broker was everywhere, his eyes ever watchful, ears attuned for the faintest mention of a secret to wield.

"I can't talk about it. I'm sorry," he began falteringly at the hurt expression that managed to pierce Hannah's demeanor of professionalism. "But we've risked too much to put the mission in jeopardy now. I want to tell you, I do."

Hannah frowned somewhat sadly, her eyes downcast. "I don't like not knowing what my son is up to, John. I fear for you. You're always putting yourself in the worst danger possible. But you're a Specter. I'd better get used to it." She couldn't help but allow a bitter note to creep into her tone.

Shepard sighed, conflicted. "I'm sorry, but we've sacrificed too much. It's taken Liara two years to come this close. My own team managed to get some very important data, and one of my crewmates is lying on a gurney to pay for it."

Liara stared at Shepard, startled. "What? Someone's hurt?" Her expression was distraught, eyes wide in worry. "Who? When?"

The commander's eyes were haunted as he spoke. "Tali was shot on our last job. Her condition is stable, but…" Words failed him. He lapsed into silence.

Liara, by contrast, seemed to have a lot to say. Her face contorting in anger, she spat, "Damn it! How did it happen?" Without waiting to hear his answer, she went on. "I should have known it was too dangerous. She told me you were up to something. I should have warned her, and now she's… she's…"

_First Feron, now this. Goddess, it's my fault. All my fault._

Where previously Liara's more aggressive side, the part of her that had been dominant for two years, had been, it gave way to the face Shepard had known so well. Young and confused, terrified, not for herself, but what had happened to her friends. Her hands rose to her mouth in shock, and she seated herself, oddly disconnected with her surroundings, in a nearby chair. Her eyes had begun to water as she whispered, "Damn it. _Damn it_."

Forgetting what he had been saying, Shepard drew away from his mother, kneeling by Liara's side. "Hey," he began gently, placing his hands supportively on her shoulders, which had begun to heave as she sobbed. "Hey, it's alright. It's not your fault." With a sour taste in his mouth, he said. "It's mine. You didn't do anything, Liara."

She made no answer, only shook her head from side to side.

Grief threatened to overwhelm Shepard, now, too. Bowing his head, he rose, drawing Liara up with him. She didn't resist as he held her close, and over her shoulder he called to his mother, "You see? We can't stop now. Good people have been hurt. More probably will be. But it's a price we're all ready to pay to stop—," he caught himself. "To finish this." More to himself, he mused, "It's just that we'd rather pay the price ourselves," he explained, his eyes finding the beautiful, mournful face of the asari that cried freely, "Than see others pay it."

He shut his eyes, and buried his face in Liara's head fringe. _It wasn't supposed to be like this._

Shepard heard a quiet movement, and opened his eyes to see that Hannah had drawn close. Her expression was just as pained, just as afraid, as it had been, if not more so, but something else had dawned there: understanding. With a pitying smile, and a weak nod, she answered, "You do what you have to, John. Just remember, while you're out worrying about the people you love, realize that some people worry about _you_. Stay safe, John."

Without another word, Hannah turned away, and had begun to make for the exit hatch, when she paused, conflicted. Shepard took no notice, only focused on stroking Liara's head reassuringly. Finally, after debating with herself for some time, Hannah strode back aboard. For a moment Shepard thought she was coming back to talk to him, but she hung a sharp left, and strayed onto the bridge.

Picking her way between chairs and control consoles, Hannah forcefully spun about the helmsman's chair. Joker, who hadn't been occupying himself with anything anyway, swore as he spun to face the officer.

Cringing, he asked fearfully, "What do you want?" Then, hurriedly, "Ma'am."

Hannah's eyes were, strangely enough, not hardened by the intense dislike that usually fell across them when she appraised the _Normandy_ pilot. Rather, her expression mirrored one of worry and purpose. Kneeling at eye level with the cowering Joker, she locked eyes head-on. She spoke, and her words were not, for once, harsh or reprimanding.

They were pleading.

"Please, Mr. Moreau," she implored him, "Take care of family." Rising, she added, "_Both_ of them."

Joker could only nod rapidly, eyes wide and glued to the officer, lest she suddenly decide to attack. But Hannah Shepard merely sighed, and turned away. She paused once more at the exit hatch, but this time to glance back at her son, who still held his loved one close.

Their eyes met, and Shepard could see the love there. The love of a mother.

"Be careful John. I have a feeling that we'll need you. Before the end of all things."

And she was gone.

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Crew Deck, Outside the Med Bay, 1348 hours**

"By the Goddess, I thought it would be bad… But I guess nothing can prepare you for it."

Liara gazed sadly through the clear viewport into the clinical white Med Bay beyond. All the cots were empty, save for the one closest to the door. Upon it, a young quarian lay, her close-cropped raven hair framing a pale, pointed face. Tali's wounds were cleaned and hidden beneath a surgical blanket, and grisly though they were, her expression was at peace.

Her chest rose and fell methodically, as several automated machines hovered over her, monitoring her vital statistics and administering intravenous antibiotics.

The asari stood by her human bondmate, his arm draped over her shoulders caringly. Both sets of eyes studied the comatose quarian, whom they both knew and loved.

"She insisted on coming with me, you know. She warned me that if I didn't bring her, she'd hide my guns when I got back."

Liara managed a weak chuckle. "A very serious threat." Drawing her gaze away from their mutual friend, Liara focused on Shepard, who continued to stare, visibly pained. "And what did you find, Shepard?" she asked. "What was this Admonitor hiding?"

The name brought back flashes of memory for Shepard. The old man sat, unmoving in his chair, eyes blind but somehow locked on a sight no one else could see. A past that he both loved and mourned. A vision. A promise.

A lie.

Shepard met Liara's blue eyes as he spoke, his voice filled with weariness. "I found a friend. Someone that the Shadow Broker has hurt. Just like us." He recalled that strange stare, blind, yet somehow piercing. He had to suppress a shudder, despite himself.

"He'd been manipulated by the Shadow Broker. He blackmailed him into helping him build his network. He says he manages all the Broker's secrets, but I think he's still stuck in the past. The network is too big for one man to handle now."

Liara nodded sadly, her beautiful face somber as she spoke. "I imagine the Broker keeps him just as a prize. An example."

Shepard shook his head. "No. The Broker met the Admonitor when they were both young, and before the network was established. They had an understanding. I think the Broker realizes, somewhere, what he's become. He may have started out differently, but now he twists people. But he's human, the Admonitor said that much. And I think he keeps the Admonitor to remind him of something. Who he used to be."

A pause. "I feel sorry for him."

Liara said nothing for a while, but drew away. Shepard felt a sudden void where she had been near. The absence of her warmth cut him deeply. Her back turned, she spoke after a time, and her voice was alive was a hostility Shepard hadn't heard before.

"No. You can't feel pity. He's a monster. No better than a machine." She turned around, and her eyes were afire with passion, but it was not the sort of passion Shepard recalled seeing there. It was anger. And hatred. "Worse. A machine doesn't harm people needlessly. The Broker… he _likes_ it. I'm sure."

Her chest heaved in anger as she panted as though she had just run a mile or shouted at the top of her lungs. Her stance was threatening, but Shepard realized the anger wasn't directed at him. She went on. "He tried to _sell_ you, Shepard. To the Collectors. To be processed and consumed in some sick experiment. He tried to _kill_ me, and when he couldn't, he imprisoned the man that saved me. Saved _us_."

Shepard felt a strange sensation grip him. "What man?" he asked, somewhat sharply.

Liara didn't notice his jealousy. "Feron. An agent of the Shadow Broker. He betrayed his master to help me rescue you, Shepard. I owe him everything. My life. My vengeance…"

The anger melted away, and she looked him in the eye, begging him to understand.

"You. I love you Shepard, more than anyone. Don't doubt that for a moment. But Feron… I can't be at peace, I can't rest easy and embrace the happiness he bought me, embrace _you_, as long as he suffers for it. He might still be alive. He might not be. But it doesn't matter." Her voice took on a hard edge. "If I can save him, then everything will be alright. If I can't, then I can at least exact my revenge on the Broker."

Shepard approached her, his momentary bout of jealousy dying away. "Don't forget yourself, Liara. I'm grateful for what you and Feron did. But it isn't worth losing you forever."

They both knew he wasn't talking about her life.

She nodded, and her anger passed. Running her fingers across his chin, she said, her words serious, "You won't lose me, Shepard. Part of me, the part that has been hunting the Broker for two years, is so close to its goal. But it isn't me, Shepard. It's angry, and hateful, and so _confused_. And its existence is linked to the Broker's. I can't be happy until I can find myself again."

He understood. Taking her hand, he answered her, "We'll find him. He's done hurting people. We'll bring him to justice. For the Admonitor, for Feron, for us. I promise."

She kissed him briefly, then asked, "What are we going to do?"

He had already given this some thought. Glancing from Liara to the wounded Tali, he answered, "We'll use the coordinates and zero in on his location. We have a state-of-the-art vessel and a crew to match. They won't let us down. We'll find him. But first…" His determination gave way to sadness. "We've got to get Tali to safety. She can't stay here. We'll leave her at an Alliance hospital, or with the Migrant Fleet. Everyone on this ship will be risking their lives, and I don't want to risk Tali's again. Not in her condition."

Their eyes found each other, and Liara was filled once again with adoration for the man before her. Shepard, always so selfless and kind, so loving. So _good_. She would have to rely on him to rein in her darker impulses. He wouldn't let her fall.

She was just about to say so, tell him once again that she loved him, that she couldn't live without him, when someone else spoke up.

"Don't even think about it, you _bosh'tet_."

Their eyes widened in shock, and both Shepard and Liara approached the window looking into Medical. Tali had stirred, had half-risen from her prone position, an arm clutching at her side. Her eyes were dark, exotic, and her face wore a look of stony conviction.

"Doctor Chakwas!" Shepard called out, alarmed. "It's Tali!"

Tali took no notice, only batted away with her hand a medical drone that had begun to harass her with a sedative. "Get away. Get _away_. _Keelah_, I'm fine!"

Shepard couldn't take his eyes off Tali out of fear for her. "Tali, you're sick. You need to get to a hospital. You're in no condition to move, much less fight!"

"I know that, idiot," she stated rather bluntly, but not particularly unkindly. "But there's no way, _no way_, that you're leaving me behind. I joined you Shepard, I joined this crew, and I'm not leaving it now for something like this. I'm staying on this ship. My fate will be the same as the _Normandy_'s."

"You're not thinking straight," Shepard maintained firmly. "It's my fault that you're injured, and I won't see you hurt again!" Why was she being so _stubborn_?

"Shepard," Liara interjected, "It's nobody's fault. And it's just her body that's been harmed. She's still fully aware of what she's saying. She doesn't want to leave you." She drew close to him, hand on his chest, trying to make him understand. "Can you blame her?"

"I see you got my message, Liara," Tali stated, as though they were discussing the topic over lunch, instead of through a quarantine window. "It's good to see you again."

Liara turned toward the young quarian, and a grateful smile broke out across her blue features. "I can never thank you enough, Tali. I sent you a response. Did you get it?"

"I was a little indisposed." She gestured expansively at her torso. "But you're welcome."

Shepard was touched by the display, but there were more important things to talk about. "Tali, I'm not going to see you get hurt again. I can't." His voice became rather helpless here. What could he do? He was used to situations where he had some degree of control. On the battlefield, on a mission, where he could take action. Here, he could just talk through an intercom, and right now, he was losing this battle.

"That's not your choice, Shepard. The _Normandy_ will only be in danger if you fail. And if you fail, then the Reapers have already won, and nothing can protect me. I'm staying." There was a sense of solemn finality about her words, and Shepard realized, with a start, that she was right.

Frowning, his brow creased in worry and thought, he tried to convince himself that she was wrong, but deep down, he already knew his answer. And like she said, he thought with a smile, he didn't have any choice.

"Okay, Tali," he conceded, smiling in appreciation of her loyalty as Chakwas came running over, shouting orders to the medical drones. "We'll do it your way."

Settling back in her cot and yielding to the insistent chattering of the machines, Tali allowed a drone to inject her arm with a sedative. She muttered sleepily, as the drugs took rapid effect, "I knew you would."

As Shepard and Liara shared a happy smile at the sight of their recovering friend, Tali shouted out, her words slightly slurred now, "Oh, get a move on. Why don't you two go embrace eternity or something?"

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, CIC, Galaxy Map, 1402 hours**

Shepard gazed into the swirling, glowing depths of the Galaxy Map, taking in the wide, infinite expanses it portrayed. Millions of stars shimmered, their miniscule representations dotting the galaxy. The planets in orbit around them were all but invisible at this scale.

Liara had gone off to familiarize herself with the ship, as EDI had insisted on giving a guided tour. Joker had hinted to Shepard that the AI was actually interesting in extracting some juicy gossip about the commander from his asari bondmate. Shepard reflected that EDI's personality algorithms had been growing more and more pronounced since her unshackling. He couldn't help but laugh at the thought.

But there were more important things to do.

Shepard highlighted one cluster in particular, inputting coordinates from his omni-tool into the system computer.

He watched, on edge, as the computer selected a distant system. An in-depth map of the region materialized, centered on a single star. Planets ringed the area, their obits displayed readily. Usually, any trivial information on the system and its planets would be rendered by the Cerberus database.

And while the Illusive Man's organization was, usually, quite well-informed, they had next to nothing on the system. Nothing, because its location had been hidden from the galaxy for thousands of years, and had only recently been rediscovered.

But Cerberus, not to be outdone, had this to say on the system: _The Pangea Expanse has long evaded contact with the modern galaxy. Accessible only by the fabled Mu Relay, this system has been sought after for centuries by researchers and plunderers alike, due to its obvious connection to Prothean culture prior to their destruction. However, records show that the Mu Relay was knocked out of its recorded position several millennia ago by a nearby star that went supernova. The resulting cataclysmic explosion caused the Mu Relay to drift and, over time, become lost. In the year 2183, a Council Spectre rediscovered the long-lost Relay, and travelled to the system beyond._

Yes, the Mu Relay had only recently been discovered. Shepard would know…

He'd discovered it.

His blood felt chilled with excitement, as he remembered his adventure two years prior. He had raced Saren to recover the lost Mu Relay, and reach its ancient destination.

It all made sense. Would not he, the greatest dealer of secrets the galaxy had ever known, who had plumbed the deepest mysteries of the universe, have discovered it already himself? What better place to hide than in a system that nobody thought existed?

Shepard's heart pounded in anticipation as he rushed away from his terminal, calling out to EDI to order the crew to the Conference Room. He left the galaxy map running, displaying its last coordinates…

The Shadow Broker was on Ilos.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry for the three-month delay, but returning to work is very distracting. I've scored some time off, and will be updating regularly. Please enjoy!**

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**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, FTL Communications Suite, 1434 hours**

"Not Ilos exactly, but within the system. The Admonitor's given us everything we need." Shepard's face was alight with excitement, his gaze passing over each of his assembled squadmates in turn. Gathered about the conference table, his team stood ready in the ambient pool of light.

Garrus wore a look of hungry anticipation, his dark eyes shining almost greedily at the thought of another hunt. The turian leaned in close to catch every detail of the briefing, the damage to his jowls highlighted by the savage smile he had adopted. To him, it was time to get payback for Tali.

Mordin paced endlessly along one end of the table, not nervous, merely processing countless tactical evaluations. The salarian's scarred features were drawn tight in concentration, a long-fingered hand stroking his chin thoughtfully, wide eyes narrowed in doubt.

Legion stood completely still, demonstrating a degree of self-mastery incapable of organic life. His single blue-white oculus occasionally roamed about the conference room, contracting and widening in interest. He ran countless combat probabilities as he idled, and as he encountered a particularly troubling statistical scenario, the geth flexed its head-flaps, the equivalent of a nervous habit.

Thane seemed to be the room's only inhabitant interested in occupying a chair. The drell rested his arms upon the table surface, green hands clasped before him as if in prayer. Head bowed slightly, he kept one ear angled just so, discerning everything the commander said, while silently contemplating just what assassination techniques would best serve him in the coming battle. Perhaps he would have to employ several. Make things interesting. A smile broke across his scaly face at the thought.

Tali remained down in Medical, where Doctor Chakwas informed Shepard that their quarian patient was making a shaky recovery. Efforts were being made to have her suit sterilized and prepped for immediate use upon her discharge. Legion had personally assigned no less than three hundred and ninety-one dedicated programs to the task of tracking Tali's medical progress, monitoring suit repair efforts, and filing away reminders to personally deliver the completed product to the quarian when acceptable.

Joker sat at the ship's helm, complaining to EDI about the necessity of travelling through a "Basically defunct," Mass Relay, citing the arduous task of having to readjust the jump parameters, an ordeal that would cause him to miss out on a game of Skyllian-Five poker that he'd organized with some of the guys down in Navigation. But he kept the intercom open with the Comm Room in case Shepard made one of his inevitable speeches that Joker was so fond of uploading to the extranet.

Liara stood beside Shepard, but kept her back to the room's occupants. Instead, her thin blue fingers grasped the guardrail than ran along the viewport, as her inquiring eyes stared out into the dark expanses of space. She bit her lower lip in indecision, her expression conflicted. She had changed into a modest science officer's uniform that had irrestistably reminded her of the getup she used to wear out on the dig site back on Therum, an act that had caused Shepard more than a moment's distraction as he paused in his orientation to unconsciously admire just how form-fitting the outfit was.

Why was she doing this? A haunted look came over her face as she contemplated the void. Her mission was over. She'd saved Shepard from the Broker, they'd been reunited. By all accounts, she should be overjoyed.

But the desire for vengeance, that bitter, angry fire in her heart, would not be sated so easily. Liara knew it was dangerous, understood it was destructive, and yet she realized: she didn't care. This wasn't about Shepard. Or her. Or the galaxy.

This was about killing the Shadow Broker.

It was this understanding that drove her forward. It wasn't the most noble purpose, but it was simple. Practical. Kill the Broker. Finish the job.

Liara knew this was nothing like herself, but it didn't matter. There was too much at stake now, too many lives on the line in the impending war with the Reapers, to allow such a dangerous ally of the enemy to slip away. She understood. The Broker was sitting on something big.

Her first reports, when she delved into the information underworld, alone and terrified, drowning in the secrets and fears of a galaxy, had been anything but helpful. The Shadow Broker covered his tracks well. But over the years, after months of data-gathering, contact-building, and careful planning, Liara had come to believe that the Shadow Broker was harboring a cache of intel that even he refused to trade, a sort of reserve stockpile, in case he ever needed a backup plan. A proverbial ace up his sleeve.

She had long suspected he would use the information to bargain with the Reapers when they arrived, or to disappear entirely, or in some other way ensure his continued survival when the rest of the living galaxy was utterly annihilated. If he believed that such survival was possible, he was deluding himself. And if the information could help the Reapers, it had to be destroyed along with its dark master.

She had come so close. So close now, at last, to realizing her goal.

But her goal was not her dream.

In her heart of hearts, Liara saw herself, free. Safe from a galaxy of worries and troubles, liberated from the petty struggles of glactic life. Ever since she had joined Shepard, had found her destiny inexorably and irrevertably swept up with his own, her existance had changed forever. A life of adventure, and excitement, was open to her, true. In a sense it was the pinnacle of her many wistful daydreams in her early youth. To fight and save the galaxy, part of a noble band of heroes. It was all so… _romantic_.

But after Shepard's death, the reality of it all came crashing down on them. Even before, when Kaidan had laid down his life to save theirs, they had come face-to-face with the grim reality of the universe. Those whirlwind exploits came with a heavy price. Sooner or later, luck would run out for all of them.

And so Liara's dream had changed. She just wanted it to end, she realized now, as she contemplated the infinite darkness beyond the _Normandy_'s viewport. Before all of this, she had had no true family. The only person she'd ever had to look out for was herself. It was lonely, but reassuring. There had been no one else to worry about, to care for. And yet, now, those heroes she had fought beside had become her family. And while they had set out to save the galaxy, no matter the cost, now she merely wanted to end the struggle, to protect those family members who remained.

Their great quest, to find the Conduit and stop Saren, had been replaced with much darker motives. The lines between good and evil had long since begun to blur. At times she wasn't even sure if they fought for the right side anymore. Renegades, assassins, murderers, a regular pack of villains, by all other accounts, whose goals and morals were far from certain. Liara realized, with a humorless laugh, that if he were alive today, Saren would undoubtably have fit right in among the _Normandy_'s ragtag crew.

She'd long since begun to question her own morality. She'd killed so many people since this had all begun. Innocent or not, she realized, the journey was taking its toll. With every death, she felt a little piece of herself slipping away. She had to end this soon, to save herself.

And yet, Liara knew, all hope was not lost. Their mission was the same, although cloaked now in a different form. Stop the Reapers. Save the galaxy. And all she had to do was take one look at that towering figure, those bright, fierce eyes, to know that everything was going to be alright. Shepard fought beside them. How could they lose?

And so Liara turned away from the void, and moved beside her bondmate. Leaning intently toward the projection table, Liara examined closely the schematics uploaded from the _Normandy_ computer. The images cycled between the vast, swirling galaxy and a remote system, sparsely populated by scarcely a half-dozen planets. The hologram detailed a standard Mass Relay: colossal, majestic, and yet weathered and worn with unfathomable age, its once pristine white carapace carbonized and charred by the long-forgotten supernova that had scorched its surface. The Mu Relay.

"This Admonitor of yours has proven most helpful," she observed, her bright blue eyes studying the images closely. "See here?" She pointed with a slender finger at the design, highlighting a particular portion. The image resolved itself to boast a twin pair of shining stars, one intense and fiery, the other old and dimming. "The Pangea Expanse has only one major system, centered on a binary sun."

"Refuge," Mordin noted, scowling in interest.

"_And I bet the Shadow Broker think's the name's so clever,_" Joker rejoined over the comlink. "_Someone had better add a bad sense of humor to his list of crimes._"

"Indeed," Liara replied absently. "There are only three recorded planets in-system: Agetoton, Zafe, and," she paused, and Shepard saw a ghost of a smile touch her lips as the memories returned. "Ilos."

"Which one does the Broker hide on, then? I can't believe we were so _close_ to him on Ilos. We could have saved ourselves so much _trouble_," Garrus mourned, but Shepard shook his head knowingly.

"He wasn't even in-system at the time." He consulted the accompanying text that scrolled along the map. "The Shadow Broker didn't discover the Mu Relay, but I'm sure we're supposed to believe he did. No, Saren and then the _Normandy_ were the first to pass through the Relay, the Broker just harvested the information. He let himself in right behind us. Maybe just weeks later." But from where? The only being with knowledge of the Mu Relay's location at the time had been the Thorian on Feros, an ancient subterranean life form that possessed the sum genetic memory of the Protheans, the Cipher. That information had been passed down to two people exclusively before the Thorian died: Shepard, and Saren. For all of his talents, the Broker couldn't have tapped the Thorian's knowledge.

How, then, did he find the Relay? Shepard glanced at the readout. "Once we made our report to the Council, they decided that all information regarding the Relay was to be protected to stop looters and pirates. The coordinates were wiped from the _Normandy_'s computer, remember?"  
Garrus and Liara nodded understandingly. Joker did the same on the bridge before realizing that no one could see him anyway.

"The only people with knowledge of the Relay were Saren and his geth. Sovereign and Saren were both destroyed, and the geth don't share any information beyond their own network. Besides, most of the invasion fleet was wiped out at the Battle of the Citadel. It says here the Council ordered the data sealed for later use by organized expeditionary teams. They didn't want anyone else landing on Ilos."

"The data reports something odd," Liara interjected. "While the information was stored away in highly encrypted Council archives, it seems a copy was leaked before the job was done. But who could have clearance?"

"Reports indicate that an Alliance intelligence group claimed co-ownership of the data, and attempted to facilitate human efforts in the region," Legion warbled. "Council granted the measure, in abidance of the Galactic Exploration Treaty of 2167, since an Alliance vessel did make the discovery. Before the information was stored in Alliance databases, it was transferred to a temporary housing unit. The personal data terminal of one Donnel Udina, Human Ambassador."

Shepard swore under his breath. "It figures," he said, "That jackass couldn't just let things be. How long does it say the Shadow Broker took to access Udina's database?"

"Approximately 0.00343 nanoseconds," Legion replied with a cheerful affectation. "Most efficient, we believe. The Broker was either running an active tap on the terminal, or Udina personally informed him."

Garrus snorted derisively, crossing his scaly arms over his chest. "Udina's a lot of things, but he's no traitor. He's just incompetent."

Shepard smirked briefly. "Agreed. So the Broker gained access to the Mu Relay, and made himself at home."

"Bastard," Liara muttered, almost to herself, as she rested her forearms across the countertop, her azure eyes remaining fixed on the hologram. "He used the Council protection of the system to ensure no one would ever find him. But it still doesn't add up. There _have_ been expeditionary teams since then. I was reading up on the subject in some archaeology holozines. They scanned the entire surfaces of each planet extremely attentively, searching for Prothean relics. The initial results were promising, but interest in the project waned after no particular discoveries were made. With the system closed to the public and its existence still hushed up, there was no immediate need to keep searching. Still, the project did go on for almost a year. Why would the Shadow Broker hide in the one area of the galaxy that was going to be searched with a fine tooth comb?"

"It's simple," Thane explained. "Hide in plain sight. He only had to do it once. Like you said, the Council was otherwise occupied. The discovery of Ilos was of tremendous importance, but all attention and funds were being diverted to restoring the Citadel. Once the system was left alone, the Broker had it all to himself."

"And yet," Mordin piped up in his excitable voice, "What scientific data was recovered about the surrounding planets proved most interesting. Agetoton's surface exceeds five hundred degrees Celcius, to use the human scale. Zafe is a gaseous giant. With Ilos so closely examined, impractical to set up shop there. No viable planet, but otherwise perfect system. The Broker has funds. So why not simply…?" He let the question dangle.

"Build his own," Shepard finished. Drawing up another schematic from the Admonitor's message, he read aloud, "_One small-scale Dyson sphere, eight thousand kilometers in diameter. Mostly composed of asteroid rubble, to be concealed in Refuge's asteroid belt…_ Ah ha. Look here. And one made-to-order fortress, set up half a kilometer beneath the surface crust." He consulted once more the long list of invoices, data, and schematics. "He's got regular supply drops, communications relays, one platoon of Eclipse mercenaries, surface-to-air missiles, and stealth equipment to avoid surface scanners."

There was a mass of whispering about the room. Joker swore over the intercom. Garrus blanched. "What was that about a _platoon_ of mercenaries?"

"_And the _missiles_?_" Joker squaked irately.

Shepard tried to maintain calm by playing dumb. "Oh, it's nothing much. We've handled worse before. The point is—"

"How exactly do we intend to sneak past a company of mercs?" Garrus chewed his mandible nervously.

"Without_ being scuttled by the heat-seeking, motion-sensetive, ballistic nuclear warheads?_"

Shepard made to speak, but EDI beat him to it. "The _Normandy_ is equipped with the best stealth systems in existence, Mr. Moreau. We could approach the installation without triggering a single alarm."

"And the mercenaries? Anybody know how many soldiers make up a platoon?" Garrus cast about anxiously. He hazarded an optimistic guess. "Twenty? Thirty?"

"Two hundred and forty-six, according to the personnel roster," Legion replied bluntly, a cheery note evident in his voice that he was proving so helpful. Garrus looked faint.

Shepard decided to intervene before Garrus hyperventilated. "Listen up, everybody, we can handle this. We've got the element of surprise on our side, and the best team in the galaxy. Not to mention the finest ship in the hands of the greatest helmsman." He figured a little flattery would help settle Joker's nerves.

There was a grumbled consensus at these words, and Shepard nodded affirmatively. "Good. Now, we just need to examine what data we've got—"

"Shepard?" Liara called out worriedly, backing away from the terminal she'd been poring over. "I hate to rain on my own parade, but there's one more thing we have to account for."

Tapping a control, Liara brought the Mu Relay into view. Its centripetal rings rotated animatedly, containing the vast blue element zero core within. "The Broker's rigged the Mu Relay. Nothing goes in or out without setting off an alarm. The _Normandy_'s stealth systems can't help us if he knows we're there. All it will take is a single sentry to spot us." Her expression fell, a look of despair written across her face. "He's thought of everything."

Shepard felt a fierce determination grip him now, and he approached Liara's terminal himself. Taking a moment to meet her eyes reassuringly, he accessed the information personally.

"Not everything," he corrected. "He's so caught up in his technical plans and contingencies, he's forgotten the critical link." At everyone's confused glances, he went on. "The Admonitor. The Broker thinks he's got everyone all figured out. It's his downfall. He might hold all the secrets of governments and planets, but he can't break into the minds of people. Not yet, anyway. He underestimated the Admonitor. His most trusted advisor is on our side. And the Admonitor designed all of this. If anyone knows how to bypass the Broker's security, it'll be him."

Scrolling through the message, Shepard drew near its conclusion. A personal attachment addressed to him caught his eye, and Shepard toggled it open.

Surprisingly, the former schematics and design layouts vanished, to be replaced with a single message. What was astonishing was that the message wasn't transcribed into data, but rather handwritten on a single sheet of paper, photographed and uploaded. It was a letter. Something about that moved Shepard. The Admonitor, a blind, broken man, had written this for him. He'd taken the time to address him directly. Even though there were much more important things to deal with, Shepard couldn't help but notice how neat his handwriting was. These was something so _human_ about this, in contrast to the professionalism devoted to each schematic. To the Admonitor, this was personal.

He began to read.

_You know who you are._

_You have come far. Too far to turn back. There is much danger on the road ahead, the labyrinth of darkness and deceit spans out indefinitely before you, and yet the way behind is shut to you now. Not out of peril or fear, but necessity. It was necessity that led you find your love, and you succeeded in saving her from Him, and from herself. Necessity that you survived this far. To you it was not a question of if, but how. That is why you have succeeded until now. You refuse to surrender. You refuse to give in. You refuse to die. I was right to believe in you. You, a single, solitary being. Why should I now place all my hopes in you, when so many others have failed? When I have failed? Perhaps I am a fool. Perhaps I am sentimental. But I am also human. What he has done to me can never be forgiven, but it can be forgot. I trust in you now, because you are one of the last people in this wide, cold galaxy who knows I am still alive. I am all but memory to the rest, the sum total of my existence merely ghosts and glass, the shattered remnants of my dreams. I am all but forgotten. I have forgotten myself. But you, you know me. We are the same, you and I. We have both lost our lives to him. We have both died, in some small way. He has taken everything from us. The time has come for us to win it back._

_But for all of your skills, my friend, for all of your resources and allies, plans and luck, you remain hopelessly outmatched. He has run this galaxy for decades. He sees and hears all, save for what I have managed to hide from him. And I have hid nothing. Save for you. I have shielded you in the hopes that I am wrong, and that I am right. Wrong that he is invincible, unassailable, and right that you are the one who may yet destroy him. I have sent you everything, the collection of knowledge that I have arrayed once for him, now for you. You are my new master. What was once his is now yours. The hidden system, his last great bastion, cannot be found, save for those who know where to look. You know. You led him there to begin with. In his arrogance, he used your discovery to protect himself. The only other who knew where to find Ilos is gone. You are all that remains. The last, loose end. He hides in your very past, the last place you would think to search. But you know now. Be wary: he owns the Relay. Any vessel that enters his kingdom will be detected. Cargo ships bearing friendly indicators may pass into his territory, but they neither know who they service or where they are. I have enclosed the Friend-Or-Foe indicators here, but I imagine they possess little appeal to you. Yours is a mission of secrecy, and an announced visit, even one that conceals your identity, will lead to failure._

_There is only one shuttle, his own, that may leave and enter the Expanse without his knowing. His servants are unaware of his comings and goings, they are not even certain of their own location. They believe they are protecting an Eclipse mining facility somewhere in the Hourglass Nebula. He enjoys the exclusivity, the idea of owning a system. But his foolishness will cost him. I cannot duplicate the code, I designed It myself to be an impossible feat. But I _am_ his system, his eyes and ears. And I will be _your _shield and your sword. I will deactivate the Relay's sensor, every hour, for precisely one minute. He will never notice the anomaly, for I will not inform him. I have never lied to him before, and he does not suspect me. I will do so for the next galactic day after you have read this message. In faith, I will maintain my vigil. Trust in me as I believe in you, and you will enter undetected. He is too strong to fight alone, but perhaps with my help, I can get you close enough. The rest you already know, and I know you will not fail, for you have friends by your side, and a love in your heart._

_I must confess. There have been others, those less worthy who have sought his destruction for their own gain, to wield his power, to tip the galactic scale. I have allowed him to learn of them, and to kill them. I bear the weight of every murder committed in his name. In closing my eyes and my ears to the evil, I have become it. I am his weapon, and in this way, I am more than guilty. I seek penance now, at the end of my life. Our life, I should say, for he and I exist together now. You will destroy him, and in doing so you will liberate me. But the only freedom I will find, the only freedom I will want, will be in death. He will descend upon me with a vengeance before this is over. I know this. And this, my final struggle, can never account for what I have allowed him to do. But it is a start._

_I have chosen you to be my champion. You will not fail. You cannot. I have forgotten the galaxy, and it has forgotten me. I have betrayed myself, and served my captor blindly. I have killed and destroyed with the stroke of a pen. The galaxy has rested in my palm. I have lost my love. I have lost myself. I am a murderer, and an artist. I am a genius, and a fool. I am a dreamer, and a schemer. I am the darkness and the light within the galaxy, within myself. I am all of these things, and I am nothing._

_I am the Admonitor, he is my Prince. And you shall be our savior. I believe, Shepard. It ends now._

_Goodbye._

Shepard stood in silence for a time afterward, unmoving. He was dimly aware of Liara taking his hand in her own, of his phalanx of friends standing beside him. But his focus remained drawn to the handwritten words that sprawled across the enlarged page. The last words of the Admonitor, this sad, lost soul, seemed to scorch his gaze as though burned into his retinas. This was his last, great act then, to hand to Shepard the keys to the kingdom, to light the way through the Broker's seemingly everlasting darkness. He knew he was signing his own death warrant, revealing the very core, that heart of darkness that kept the Shadow Broker, and his system, and the Admonitor himself alive.

Part of Shepard didn't want to understand, wanted to rush to rescue that tired old man, to save him from the Broker and himself. But the rest of him knew, as much as he detested the idea, that it was impossible. The Admonitor was old and dying, if not in body than in mind. He had long since given up the will to survive, now only fueled by the hope of bringing down his Prince alongside him. Master and servant, they would descend into death together. It was fitting. He wanted it this way. Who was Shepard to deny him his peace?

After a while, Shepard spoke, falteringly at first. "It's funny… He knew." Glancing at Liara, who stood beside him, he saw tears welling in her bright eyes, tears for this nameless, lifeless man. Shepard clasped her hand all the tighter. "About us. I told him, when we met, that I wasn't searching for the Broker for revenge or power, I was doing it for someone else… Someone I loved." The commander smiled weakly, and it almost reached his eyes. "And somehow, now, he knows that we're together again." He envisioned the old man alone in his study, somehow, impossibly, observing their reunion. Shepard could see the smile on his aged, wise face. It was like having another teammate, another member of his family, a guardian to watch over them all.

Somehow he found that thought rather comforting.

Liara laughed tiredly, drawing him close. "He wasn't wrong you know: about you, Shepard. He believes in you just like we do. Like _I_ do. The Broker," she smiled, and it was the first time she had done so after saying the hated name, "He doesn't stand a chance."

Garrus spoke, and Shepard suddenly recalled that they were not alone. "If what the Admonitor says is true—"

"_It's true,_" Joker affirmed over the comm channel, having read the message himself. His voice was uncharacteristically emotional. "_It has to be._"

"If it is then," Garrus went on, his reptilian features glancing between Shepard and Liara, still drawn close together at the head of the conference room, "We have a real shot. We can slip into the system unnoticed, land on the Broker's installation, and mount an all-out guerrilla war. The Admonitor can get us past his defenses, and after that, well, the Broker's just another merc boss hiding behind his merc buddies. And hell," he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest with a bravado that wasn't there before they'd read the letter, "We've taken out plenty of mercs before."

The commander nodded in acknowledgement for the support. "EDI?" Shepard called out. "Does the Admonitor's plan sound like it could work?"

EDI's synthesized voice trilled with confidence. "I have thoroughly reviewed the attached data two hundred and eighty seven times. The Admonitor's proposal is sound."

"_And the _Normandy_ could get you in under the radar, Commander, once we're past the Relay sensor. As for those anti-air defenses, I've seen worse. I can get you on the ground no problem._" There was a fierce determination in the helmsman's words, and the others were quick to agree.

"We have everything we need to prepare a plan," Thane concluded. "The Admonitor promised us a twenty-four hour window. I suggest we formulate our strategy, and act quickly."

"Agreed," Mordin chimed. "Shadow Broker base no longer unassailable. Provides team with reasonable chance for success. Mental outlook positive. Squad certain to operate efficiently."

Legion had been monitoring the organized manner in which the organics surrounding him were answering, one by one. His socio-cultural functions alerted him that this ritual affirmation of their probabilities of success (a figure Legion's platforms had voted in consensus to not reveal for morale reasons), was a psychological function and, in order to facilitate unit cohesion, it would be best for him to speak up as well. "We find our statistical probabilities of success to be greatly increased," he noted, quite pleased with what he saw as a heartfelt and bracing comment, and wondering to himself if he was becoming too soft.

Shepard grinned at this display of increased morale among his squad, and nodded affirmatively. "Right," he said, pounding a fist into his open palm in anticipation, that familiar fire creeping into his eyes once more. "The Admonitor's given us everything we need. Now it's time to do what we do best. Joker?" he barked to open air.

"_Sir?_"

"Get us to the Mu Relay, double-time." He addressed the rest of his team now, and they all approached the conference table eagerly. "Once we're there, we'll wait for the Admonitor's diversion. Joker will slip us through the Relay undetected, and engage stealth systems. We'll approach the Broker's installation with the _Normandy_ blacked out, and make our landing."

"The Admonitor's information indicates that the installation lacks an atmosphere outside its landing zones. The base is largely constructed beneath the asteroid surface," EDI commented enthusiastically, her light tones reverberating throughout the room.

"We'll have to work in vacuum then, at least at first," Liara said. The tears were gone now, and she too wore an expression of the utmost determination. The hunt was on. She wouldn't let the Broker elude her again. "It's times like this I wish we had the old hardsuits," she reflected somberly.

"If you are referring to the Council-issue Special Tactics and Reconnaissance vacuum-grade uniforms, Dr. T'Soni," EDI interjected smoothly, "You will be pleased to learn that the Illusive Man spared no expense in replicating or improving the amenities offered on the original _Normandy_. We stock hardsuits for humans, asari, and turians."

"_We also offer them in baby blue and shamrock green. Cerberus does things in style,_" Joker spoke up over the intercom. Even Shepard paused for a moment to figure out if he was being sarcastic or not. After several seconds he gave up, returning his attention to the team.

Thane's expression remained characteristically blank, his scaly lips pursed in thought as his webbed fingers tapped his chin thoughtfully. After a moment's silence, he directed his dark gaze toward the assembled crewmembers in turn. "I do not wish to be a spoilsport," he voiced calmly, as though ordering lunch at a beachside resort, "But there remains the small matter of the company of mercenaries stationed on the asteroid. We're good, Shepard, but our squad is nowhere near full strength. Even then, taking out or sneaking past an army of Eclipse mercenaries is a bit of a tall order. We'll need an entry and exit plan. And we'll have to consider other complications if we account for rescuing the drell—"

"Feron," Liara finished mournfully, her blue face downcast, but said nothing else. She didn't have to.

There was another moment of silence, uncomfortable this time, as each of the squad mates lapsed into thought, considering the manpower or the firearms needed to overwhelm the Broker's base. Shepard was just wondering how the Admonitor intended to ensure that the Broker couldn't escape in his shuttle when Garrus spoke aloud, almost to himself.

"_An army_…. Is it that simple?" He bit his lower mandible in consternation as his eyes flicked between two nonexistent points in the distance. For all of his machismo, Shepard realized, Garrus always was one to doubt himself, especially since he'd made his mistakes back on Omega with a squad of his own. Old insecurities died hard.

With this in mind, Shepard asked kindly, "Something on your mind, Garrus?" The turian glanced up, his expression troubled.

_No… not troubled,_ Shepard realized with a jolt. _Inspired. He's got something_.

"It's what Thane said, that's all. He mentioned an army, and I was just wondering…" He glanced between his fellow squad members, searching for some glimmer of understanding. Mordin's eyes widened in interest, while Legion shifted his stance slightly to better view the hesitant Garrus. "Well, I just thought— and stop me if I'm wrong here," he interrupted himself, but Shepard egged him on with a quick gesture. "I just figured, if we're up against an army, well," a slightly wicked grin crept over his features. "Why not build one of our own?"

Shepard's eyebrows arched in mild confusion, and he leaned back against the countertop to steady himself as he asked, "What exactly do you mean, Garrus?"

Garrus spoke slowly, as though breaking the news to himself and not wanting to miss a single word. His eyes travelled toward the geth in the corner of the room, lingering interestedly for a moment, before meeting Shepard's, his expression excited. "Shepard, I think I've got a plan. But you won't like it," he warned, shaking his scaly head dismissively. Garrus certainly knew how to get people's attention.

"Go on, Garrus," the others implored, and even Shepard found himself crowding in closer to hear what he had to say. "Tell us."

He told them. They didn't like it.

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Hawking Eta Cluster, Mu Relay, 1658 hours**

The vessel crept silently through space. Her black-and-white surface seemed to shine in the cold, pressing silence of the void. Across her portside, written in proud, striking letters, the words SSV _Normandy_ presented themselves to the myriad stars.

Engines flared, their blue-white neon glow shimmering alluringly. The vessel positioned herself carefully, gliding majestically past the stars and the nebula that colored the heavens above and below.

The target was in sight. Colossal and ancient beyond imagining, older than the genetic memory of any living species, the Mu Relay did not simply occupy, but rather dominated the space about it. It's blackened surface bore the scars of a titanic battle with a supernova, its long, elegantly curving armor both alien and mysterious.

The structure seemed cold, dead. A relic of forgotten wars and epochs. It remained utterly still, asleep to the rest of the galaxy, a monument to races and eons fallen, save for one thing. Its heart, a massive core of blue lightning, thrummed with power and vitality, encircled by monumental rings that spun with an inexorable purpose.

Then, at some unbidden signal, the _Normandy_ accelerated. Engaging stealth systems, she raced with tremendous speed toward the derelict Relay, her thrusters roaring in silence. She swept once about the Relay, gathering speed, before drawing alongside the element zero core at terminal velocity.

The Mu Relay, once ancient and unknowing, sprung to life. Blue flame flashed white, and for the briefest of instants the darkness of space was illuminated. What seemed to be a hand of fire shot out from the stormy heart of the Relay, engulfing the _Normandy_ as she passed.

Light streamed along her contours, and for half a nanosecond the _Normandy_ shone brighter than any star. Surely it would vaporize under the fierce might of the Relay's grip. But still she flew on, faster and faster, forward into the void. Lightning flared and flashed about her hull, before the _Normandy_ gave one final lurch, and was gone.

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**A/N: I am very grateful to Eoin Colfer's _Artemis Fowl: The Arctic Incident_ for its use of the amusing phrase, "He told them. They didn't like it." It was both useful and appropriate for my story at the present time. Thanks!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey there, readers! I've whipped up this rather large chapter in order to commemorate the most excellent adventures of Commander Shepard and the _Normandy_ thus far. Look forward to an update soon, and please, read and review! Enjoy!**

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**Pangean Expanse, Refuge, SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Stealth Systems Engaged, maintaining minimum safe distance from Dyson Sphere Epsilon, CIC, 0828 hours**

"I still don't like this," Liara protested in earnest, but focused intently on the tech readout nevertheless.

"Relax, Liara," Shepard consoled, holding her shoulder bracingly. They stood on the floor of the Command Deck, side-by-side, human and asari. All around them, crewmen and officers had manned their stations, sometimes running here and there between the fire control team or Navigation as the _Normandy_ crew struggled to meet the heavy demands Joker made on the state-of-the-art frigate. "Garrus has a plan. It's crazy, I know, but it's going to work."

They'd spent over fourteen hours in-system now, since their undocumented entry through the Mu Relay. Shepard recalled vividly the tense silence that fell across the ship as the _Normandy_ emerged in real space-time in the dark emptiness of the Pangea Expanse. The subsequent voyage by faster-than-light travel to the neighboring system, Refuge, had been fraught with equal measures of anticipation and dread, as the party was left to ponder grimly if indeed the Broker had grown wise to their activities.

But the Admonitor had kept his word, it seemed, and under Joker's skilled piloting, the _Normandy_ and her crew had entered the Refuge system, undetected.

That was cause for celebration in itself, but Shepard had done his best to keep the excess morale in check. This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

Whatever his words of comfort to Liara were, Garrus's plan could be called audacious at best, although Joker's preferred synonym had been _suicidal_. Regardless, Shepard had thought it through carefully, and, after comparing it to the synthesized contingencies EDI and Legion had recommended, decided it was their best bet. The Shadow Broker would be ready to counteract standard military sting operations, or an all-out assault. This required a bit more finesse than that, and Shepard believed (or, as he dared not say to his squad, hoped) it would work. The Broker frequently swathed himself in secrets; it was his chief talent. The time had come for Shepard to play the game by the Broker's rules, and Garrus was the best strategist for the job.

With that being said, Shepard was getting apprehensive. The turian agent had boarded the Kodiak shuttle and rocketed off (with stealth systems engaged) for the Broker's base, while the _Normandy_ cruised in low orbit over the Dyson Sphere that was the Broker's manmade world. Taking Thane and Legion with him, as per the plan, they'd quickly vanished from sight between the rugged, mountainous terrain, before completely dropping out of contact. Presumably they'd made their landing, and would signal when their task was complete.

That had been eight hours ago. The automated shuttle had returned as programmed— empty. Not a word from the ground team, and the Mission Clock EDI displayed in the CIC simply kept counting the minutes, which almost painfully ticked by.

"We've all made a lot of sacrifices for this Shepard. It will work." He felt the gentle pressure of her hand on his own, and he turned to meet her reassuring gaze. Their roles had reversed, with her now providing the comfort.

Shepard frowned, his expression torn with mingled worry, confusion, and guilt. _She's got that right,_ he thought to himself, as he considered the final preparations the team had made hours before. Garrus had retreated to his quarters briefly after disclosing the details of his plan to Shepard, to prepare himself for the unusual task ahead. It was a job unlike anything they had done before, and unorthodox as it was, it did not guarantee success. In fact, their odds of survival had been so contested an issue that the team had voted in majority to silence Legion's unending (and demoralizing) calculations by sending him off to prepare himself for his own crucial role in the plot.

Chakwas had informed Shepard that prior to disembarking the _Normandy_ with the rest of the advance strike team, the geth had dropped off a sealed, sterilized package at the entrance to Medical. Tali was asleep, so the gesture was lost on her for now, but even yet, as the team faced a threat that had plagued the galaxy for decades, Shepard could still pause to smile warmly at the sentiment.

Perhaps most importantly of all to the fate of the mission, Thane had met Chakwas and Mordin at Medical (Tali had been safely isolated in a surgical tent) to see to it that his part would be success. What this entailed exactly, only the advance strike team, Shepard, and Liara knew. Everyone agreed it would be for the best if knowledge of the mission's particulars was classified, in case of capture by the enemy. Needless to say, Thane had left swiftly and without delay afterward, and Shepard both admired— and deeply regretted— his sacrifice.

"The team's dedicated, Liara," he said in agreement. "I just hope it'll all be worth it." He shut his eyes and bowed his head in fatigue, and it was with a numbed jolt of surprise that Shepard realized he hadn't clocked any sleep in the past twenty-four hours. Well, things _had_ been interesting, he had to admit.

_And they're going to get a hell of a lost worse before this is over._ How it would end, he didn't like to think.

He was dimly aware of Liara shifting her stance, sensed her presence before him, but the overwhelming, sudden sense of hopelessness overcame him, and he couldn't bring himself to look up. He didn't have to.

Her embrace was warm, comforting. Liara said nothing, and Shepard returned the gesture in equal silence. For a brief while they stood still, and Shepard could only listen to the slow, gentle rhythm of her breath; feel the touch her hands.

After a time, they released each other, and Shepard found that he could open his eyes again. His dark gaze met her blue one. They both smiled, and their expressions were almost carefree.

Almost.

The mission clock struck nine hours since the strike team's departure, the agreed-upon time for the _Normandy_ crew to act unless they'd heard otherwise from the ground team. The comms stayed dark, and for almost a minute Shepard and Liara stood, unmoving, contemplating where Garrus, and Thane, and Legion were now. They had to be alive still. EDI (with the Admonitor's remote assistance) had access to the station's external comm network, and nothing had disturbed the frequencies. Surely they'd have heard if their friends had been discovered, there would have been _some_ word that they were fighting, or dying, or dead. But there was nothing. Just silence. Shepard didn't know whether or not to be comforted by that.

They were recalled from their reflections as EDI intoned, "Commander Shepard, it is time. Mission clock registers that the strike team has been out of contact beyond acceptable parameters. Your orders?"

His eyes focused, suddenly intent, as he drew himself fully to attention. "We continue as planned. Is the shuttle prepped for a second launch?"

"Affirmative," EDI stated calmly. "The shuttle is waiting in the docking bay. Your equipment and weapon loadouts are aboard."

"Perfect," Shepard said, but there was no cheer in his voice. Plan or no, he didn't like being left in the dark about the status of his team. The time had come to back them up. Personally. "Tell Joker to take us in to the designated drop point. Nice and low."

**Pangean Expanse, Refuge, Epsilon Sphere, SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2 in low orbit over Drop Zone Bravo, three klicks from the [NAME CLASSIFIED: AUTHORIZATION CODE WHITE] Installation, 0905 hours**

There was no atmosphere to speak of as the _Normandy_ descended out of the twinkling darkness of space, engines utterly silenced, armored body streaking swiftly and deliberately towards the surface below. The scream of atmosphere and the thunder of re-entry were conspicuously absent as the frigate approached the dark, uncertain world beneath, leaving behind only the briefest of ion trails in its wake. To any curious eyes gazing upward from the breathless, forlorn surface, it would seem a shooting star gleamed beautifully for but an instant, before slipping into nothingness.

The vessel did not slow, only altered its trajectory slightly, so that it swept parallel to the rapidly approaching earth. A dark crevice opened in its hull, and from the heart of the _Normandy_ escaped a solitary craft, drifting calmly toward its programmed landing zone.

Back in low atmosphere, the _Normandy_ streaked away, like some tremendous, majestic mother bird, awaiting the swift return of its young. Everything had to be perfectly synchronized: the shuttle, and the _Normandy_, had to be in and out of the gravity well as quickly as possible. The Admonitor claimed to have blinded any sensors that might spot them in orbit, but Shepard didn't want to take any chances.

The Kodiak-class shuttle, meanwhile, maintained its measured, purposeful pace, gliding down with an elegance and grace belying its awkward, cumbersome appearance. As the craft approached the surface on final descent, thrusters fired on its underbelly, slowing its entry as the craft silently touched down on the dusty surface of Epsilon.

No sand stirred at the secret vehicle's clandestine arrival, for there was no moving air to disturb it. The shuttle merely settled itself, like some low-lying jungle cat resting on its haunches, as its starboard side, bearing the Cerberus emblem, unsealed and cracked open. The atmosphere inside had vented, and the pressure of the craft had equalized itself with the exterior, and all of this was done in the deadened stillness of space.

From the belly of the stealthy beast emerged two figures, clad in vacuum-grade hardsuits and sporting an arsenal of weapons. Just two. Two lonely figures, their armor painted and tagged as belonging to the Eclipse gang, stepped from the familiar security of their transport onto the alien, artificial world.

As they strode from their craft, the shuttle sealed itself once again, and at some unbidden signal lifted away, thrusters now unsettling a fine layer of dust from the unused, lifeless soil. The Kodiak achieved vertical liftoff, before firing its rear boosters and abandoning its living cargo to the silence. The duo watched in equal soundlessness, alone save for each other, as the shuttle's artificial star gleamed once, then was gone.

The dust settled, and all was still. The stillness pressed plaintively on their ears.

Drawing their masked gazes away from the twilit heavens, the two strangers— one human, one asari, considered each other and their surroundings.

An endless desolation encircled them, its wide, ruined wastes built from the smashed remnants of old asteroids and debris of untold age. To the south, behind them, a cold desert stretched expansively forever, its vast dunes already concealed beneath the falling cover of darkness. Distant, terrible peaks dotted the horizon, monoliths of ancient stone.

Ahead, the terrain grew more rugged and mountainous, rising into sheer cliffs and mountains, unworn by the nonexistent wind. A labyrinth of stone presented itself to them, their cracked surfaces still bearing the scars of creation, each mountain and hill forged from that ancient space rubble by some unknown, powerful machine. Dark crevices scarred the high cliff walls that marked the entrance to the maze, and it was difficult not to perceive, as the shadows lengthened with the disappearance of the second of Refuge's suns behind the highest crags, dark, half-imagined things crawling forth from their unknowable depths.

But that was preposterous. There was no life here, of any kind, save for them. The vicious, hard-swept surface of the world seemed to resent their very presence, as though they trespassed on consecrated ground. The lack of atmosphere meant a lack of pressure, and the assassins could almost feel the void pulling at their armor, testing their seals with probing, invisible fingers, desiring so terribly to rip them open and expose their soft interiors to the ravages of the stillness.

The human, a male, glanced at his female counterpart briefly, and whatever understanding between them went unsaid. Taking a bold step forward, he began to walk on, and his footfalls went unheard in the emptiness.

The asari followed, and together, side-by-side, they began the long trek forward.

Indeed, they did not realize, as they clambered over the first of many stony hurdles that marked their path, that indeed they were _not_ alone. From high vistas and dark nicks in the stone, many single eyes watched them, a vast array of cameras that turned oh so slightly to monitor their progress.

But the eyes were not malevolent. Through their live uplink, with barely a ten second delay, their closest friend, their confidant and co-conspirator, watched with benevolent will. The eyes of the Admonitor were upon them, an undetected ghost in the system.

Together, they braved the beginning of the long dark that faced them, a darkness that ran deeper than they knew, straight into the very heart of the rock and stone; into the very maw of the beast.

Arm-in-arm, they descended into the kingdom of shadows.

Two there were. No more— no less.

Two would be all they would need.

**Epsilon Sphere, Global Positioning Coordinates CLASSIFIED, Eclipse guard post Delta, 1335 hours**

Shepard swore, ducking below the ridgeline. Mattock semi-automatic rifle hugged tight against his armored chest, he panted into his helmet's masked visor briefly. The air tasted stale, overused. His suit's oxygen recyling system had been on low power for quite some time, and the carbon scrubbers were no good anymore. They'd planned for this. The trip through the airless canyons had taken several hours, but their suits were top-of-the-line. They had enough oxygen left for another hour, at least. Shepard was used to this sort of job, behind enemy lines, working on borrowed time, in extreme environmental conditions. He'd been an Alliance soldier for years, and a Spectre for almost just as many. Granted, he'd spent the last two of those years dead with his status suspended, but once a Spectre, always a Spectre.

Once he'd gathered his breath, he mustered the energy to flip himself over. Resting his chest on the low rock, he peeked over the top stealthily. In his line of sight he could make out several structures. Small in appearance, the assortment of weathered buildings reminded Shepard of one of the many nameless pirate bases he'd encountered on far-off worlds during his hunt for Saren. But the Admonitor's schematics warned him that they extended underground, directly into the southern district of the Shadow Broker's installation.

Multiple suited figures milled about, their armored yellow carapaces marking them as Eclipse mercenaries. The mercs strolled somewhat casually through the compound, rifles nonchalantly fondled in relaxed arms or neglected entirely and slung across slumped backs. Some chatted idly with each other near a small motor pool, while others entered and exited through the airlocks of the central building.

_Sloppy,_ Shepard thought to himself, and wondered why the Shadow Broker allowed such lax security on his installation. Then he remembered that the Eclipse guards had no idea where they were, much less who they were guarding. Add to that the fact that these mercenaries had been seeing zero combat for several months or even years, and their lack of rigorous discipline seemed understandable. The Admonitor's report said that the main force believed themselves to be guarding an Eclipse mining facility, with the mines located at another remote location on the planet.

Of course there were no mines. But what Shepard sought was indeed underground. And, despite the fact that the security seemed weak and that he was disguised as a merc himself, he didn't want to take any chances.

Shepard wanted desperately to ask Liara what she thought of the situation, but that was impossible at the present time. He and Liara had seperated some forty minutes back, with her taking one route through the rubble marked out by their informant, and Shepard taking the other. They were to rendezvous underground, as per the plan. It would be easier for both of them to proceed in seperately to avoid arousing suspicion, but even then, Shepard was loathe to leave Liara once again, if only for a short while.

And while the security up here might have been weak, the automated defenses, as well as the underground guards, closely monitored by the administration, would be much tighter. The Admonitor promised that no technological trap or checkpoint would hamper Shepard's progress, but the same couldn't be said for the live security. This had to be done _carefully_.

"Hey, you!"

Shepard's heart nearly stopped. The shout couldn't have come from across the compound. Physical sound didn't carry in the lack of atmosphere. He was being contacted directly through his comlink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something stirring along the low, rocky path that lead to the base.

"Don't think I don't see you there!"

Steadying his breath, Shepard mentally steeled himself for what had to be done. He reviewed the motion in his head. A quick roll to the right, landing in kneeling position. Bring rifle to bear, take aim, shoot. One headshot, to ensure no transmissions were made. The void would muffle the shot.

He'd just been counting mentally down from five, when the voice urged, "Damn it, recruit! Get up now, or I'm reporting you to the supervisor! I don't care how dull the guard shift gets, you don't sleep on it! Especially with a limited tank of air. What do you want to do, suffocate?"

In stunned amazement, Shepard cautiously rose, poking his helmeted head in the direction of the voice. An Eclipse sergeant, an asari, by the shape of her and the tone of her voice (now that he bothered to listen to it), stood at the foot of the small knoll, hands on her hips, upon which a pistol (holstered, thankfully) was slung.

Strolling awkwardly down the hill, Shepard approached his newfound superior, doing his best to walk like a grunt. Perhaps the stiff way he stood reassured the asari of his rank, because she merely said, "Get back on base, recruit. I want the motor pool spotless when I come back from my sweep. Well? What are you waiting for?" she grilled, while he stood, thunderstruck. "Go! Goddess forbid I come across something more dangerous than _you_ out there."

With an exaggerated nod, Shepard turned, almost forgetting to salute, and was just thanking his lucky stars when the voice shouted out one last time.

"Hustle! I want to see those tail-feathers _shaking!_"

Shepard was casually waved through the main checkpoint by two gate guards, neither of them keen on associating with the recruit who'd just gotten chewed out by the sergeant. Passing by several other mercs, who paused to laugh and point at his humiliation, Shepard actually couldn't be more pleased. He was in the camp! As he walked around a pile of ammunition crates stacked against a wire fence, Shepard quietly hoped Liara was faring as well.

But there was no sign of her. Her comm was still active, and she hadn't signalled on the emergency channel, so he had to assume she was alright. Shepard hated making assumptions, but it was the best he could do.

The first order of business was to tank up on air. A nearby portable station was available for guards on active duty who didn't have time to venture below ground during their shift. Approaching the terminal as confidantly as he could muster, Shepard became aware of a security monitor observing him from atop a nearby wall. The camera focused in his direction momentarily, before snapping back into position.

_You will be blind to his eyes. Trust in me, Shepard. As I trust in you._

And he did. Implicitly. The Admonitor wouldn't let him down. He could be certain of _that_.

Drawing level with the station, Shepard had just plugged the oxygen hose into his suit's receptor, and was just enjoying the first few gasps of fresh air when something caught his eye. A tiny set of scratches on the otherwise pristine oxygen cannister he was currently drawing air from.

Glancing over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being watched, Shepard leaned in.

Hurried, but neat handwriting was visible, carefully carved using a small knife of some sort.

_Ilos was incredible, don't you think?_

_Liara,_ Shepard realized with a rush of excitement. She was okay. Better than okay, she was inside the camp! And one step ahead of him, it seemed. It was painfully obvious Liara wasn't going to waste any time. The Broker was close, but not close enough. Not yet.

He had some catching up to do.

Of course, the issue still remained of his other missing squadmates, but even so, Shepard was beginning to think that things were starting to go their way. Reassured that Liara was safe, Shepard had just begun to set off for a nearby structure that the Admonitor's schematics had pinned as an access point to the facility below, when something else caught his eye.

Another merc, some distance away by the main entrance, stared at Shepard intently. His visored face was tinted, but the angle of his ebony-armored body and the way his unseen eyes followed his motion proved it: Shepard was being watched.

The alien figure did nothing for a while, only leaned casually against a chain-link fence, arms crossed imposingly. It made no acknowledgement that Shepard returned its stare, but as Shepard approached, making for the structure whose entrance he flanked, the mute figure drew itself upright. Uncrossings its arms, it began to walk in Shepard's direction, its inhuman legs taking long strides, rapidly covering the ground between them.

The Eclipse-colored commander drew to a jarring halt. There was no way he could have exposed himself. He had the armor and the identification to prove it (the Admonitor had provided the team with some falsified electronic tags), but he felt it would be best to avoid having to resort to them altogether. With a frown, Shepard about-faced and headed off the other way. He'd go around behind another building, lose his second shadow, and head for another entrance. There was more than one access point; the merc couldn't possibly know where he was headed.

Glancing back swiftly over his shoulder, as the main yard shifted out of site, Shepard realized the mercenary had vanished.

That didn't bode well.

Then he lost sight of the entire compound behind the steel wall of the bunker he'd taken shelter behind. Shepard was just turning his head, wondering where the conspicuous guard had gotten to, when—_ WHAM!_

The blunt force of the impact of a rifle butt to his helmet caused Shepard's forehead to crack into the front of his own tinted visor. Lights popped in his eyes, and, stunned, his knees buckled.

He dropped like a sack of turian wheat.

Strangely, his only concern as his vision flickered was that Liara might have seen that.

Falling forward, he was caught by two long fingered hands that braced him against the large, dark barrel-chest of the strange mercenary. With a muted oath, the faceless enemy grabbed Shepard by the shoulder plates and quickly, glancing left and right shiftily to ensure they weren't being watched, dragged him around behind the mess hall.

Shepard offered up no resistance as the guard stealthily smuggled him around the backlot of the compound, taking care, although they were alone, to move from cover to cover between power generators and several large Mako exploratory rovers.

Soon the watchman had reached his destination: a nondescript shed situated at the far end of the compound. The area seemed deserted, but Shepard's assailant was taking no chances. With great care not to be observed by several security monitors that dotted the area, the large mercenary pulled Shepard the last dozen meters along the paved lot, through an airlock that opened into yawning darkness.

The guard pulled Shepard in, the hatch sealed, and they were both cast into absolute darkness.

A momentary silence in the gloom as the airlock cycled through. Several faint lights flickered on. The guard had propped Shepard up against the wall to recover on his own, and stood, observing the far metal bulkhead calmly, his large, reptillian feet at parade rest, arms set in the small of his large, hunched back. The visored face stared straight ahead, professional, before sparing the incapacitated commander a brief sidelong glance. "Thanks for not resisting," he shared conversationally, in a tone that suggested he was congratulating the commander on a well-played game of skyball.

"You didn't have to hit me so hard," Shepard groaned, unsealing his helmet and allowing himself to massage his bruised temple with a gloved palm. "You could have cracked something."

"Hey, I had to make it convincing," insisted the merc, who likewise removed his lengthy helmet, careful to avoid snagging his scaly head fringe as he did so. Pulling the darkened visor fully away from his face, Garrus spared Shepard a grisly smile. "Besides, we both know you don't use it much anyway."

"My visor?"

"No, your head." With a wicked grin, he offered Shepard a clawed hand, and swiftly pulled him to his feet. A little _too_ swiftly for Shepard's liking, and his ears rang for a while afterwards, but he didn't want to complain any more.

Aside from the mild concussion he'd sustained, Shepard was feeling great. Everything was proceeding according to plan.

"I've got to admit, I still can't believe you went for this," Garrus confided, giving the control panel to the inner air lock a swift _thwack!_ as it froze on the DECONTAMINATION sign. The elevator rumbled do life, and he nodded appreciatively. Shepard felt his stomach drop as the lift began its descent into the crust of the artificial world. "You're usually one to go for the whole _guns-blazing_ bit. I must say though, I was impressed by your terrified scurry from my menacing presence." Garrus snickered.

"Right," Shepard commented with a wry smirk. "Where's Thane?"

Garrus nodded at the airlock door. "He's inside, waiting for us. We spent our ten hours well, Shepard. We stayed out of contact just like the plan said. If anyone had monitored us beyond our arrival, they wouldn't know we were working with you. Landed, made our way here. Legion took his position; he's waiting for my signal. Thane took out a guard, gave me his uniform. Prison-guard, too. Like the color?" He gestured at the shiny black sheen of his armor that had caught Shepard's eye out in the compound. "We had to wait until we got a turian, and that was no small task. Have you ever realized just how _few_ turians Eclipse employs? The discrimination is almost criminal. I'm thinking of suing," he joked. Garrus was inclined to small-talk when he got nervous. Judging by his chattiness, he was hiding his panic very well indeed.

"We used the uniform to get access to the prison laundery. Stole a set of clothes for Thane. He tried them on, Shepard, and I swear, he looks _just_ like the holo Liara showed us. Doctor Chakwas and Mordin really did a number—"

"I know," Shepard cut him off, his expression stern. Stern not at Garrus, but at himself for suggesting the idea to Thane. "He's done a lot for the mission. So let's not keep him waiting," he said, eager to change the subject.

"Shepard, they're certain the procedure's reversible—"

But Shepard didn't have to listen. As if on cue, the jammed airlock door cycled through, and, donning their helmets, Shepard and Garrus strode casually into the underground facility of the Shadow Broker.

**Epsilon Sphere, Global Positioning Coordinates [ERROR: Target not registering on surface], Subterranean Facility [CODENAME: HADES], 1403 hours**

Liara strolled calmly along the metal corridor, her weapon holstered, her posture relaxed. This in and of itself was a remarkable achievement, seeing as her every action ran completely counter to her instincts, which now screamed for her obedience. Here she was, in the heart of the enemy's base of operations, less than a kilometer now from the physical, tangible, _killable_ body of the Shadow Broker himself! And yet she walked with seemingly idle directionlessness, her vital sidearm out of her hands, relying solely on the disguise she wore to blend with the crowd.

Granted, it was much less populated in the Life Support district of the underground complex, with only one or two Eclipse engineers to be found every thirty meters or so, tending to the computers, maintaining machinery, or patrolling the catwalks, objectively observing. Below the intricate lattice of overpasses and scaffolding, vast turbines churned, their titanium fan-blades whirring with blinding speed as the ventilation system processed ductfuls of carbon dioxide, carbon-scrubbers working tirelessly to synthesize oxygen out of the air.

Liara itched with the desire to run, to seek out the Broker and put him down like the animal he was. She longed to throw all of their carefully laid plans away with reckless abandon, deserting all of their designs in favor of an all-out attack. Of course, she knew such ideas were senseless, and she had spent too long chasing the Shadow Broker to die now, pointlessly, her mission unfinished. She and Shepard were the first to get this close. The Admonitor was betting everything on their success. Not to mention Feron was somewhere deep within this labyrinth of a station, probably beaten and starved, tortured for information he could not or would not divulge. It was time she rescued him from the hell he had willingly sacrificed himself to for them.

She had to put her emotions aside and finish this. For everyone.

Liara was quietly grateful now, more than ever, for her heritage, because being an asari in an Eclipse base gave her a distinct advantage. Being the species of the main troop forces, as well as the matriarchal hierarchy that dominated the organization, asari were abundantly common within the Hades Facility. She had learned the place's name upon entering, emblazoned across several greeting placards: _Welcome to the Hades Mining Administrative Facility_. This falsified information came complete with carefully placed misinformation (and, in one outlandish case, a travel brouchure) about the "mine's" location, and was obviously meant to distract the Broker's unwitting help from their true purpose and importance.

Which meant he had to be hiding somewhere off the beaten path. Somewhere the common guard or overseer wouldn't tread. He'd probably be nestled deep in the heart of the off-limits Administrative Section. Security might be tight, but with her skill, and the Admonitor's help, she'd figure something out. Unfortunately, secret paramilitary subterranean fortresses rarely come equipped with "YOU ARE HERE" maps, and so Liara would have to make do without.

She'd watched from the shadows of a large, unwieldy Mako rover as Garrus descended on Shepard away from prying eyes, and mock-bludgeoned him into submission. With the access to the base's topside systems EDI possessed thanks to the Admonitor, she'd circulated several reports about an AWOL recruit fitting Shepard's description, hence giving Garrus (in the role of a corrections officer that Liara felt he was enjoying a _bit_ too much to be healthy) cause to "arrest" him.

This was all of course part of their plan to infiltrate the prison complex, where hopefully they could locate Feron. If they were stopped before they could meet up with Thane, who presumably lay low somewhere within the facility, Garrus would use Shepard as his excuse to enter the penitentiary. How precisely they planned to extract Feron afterwards, Liara didn't know. Nor did it matter to her at the present time. She had other issues to attend to.

Approaching a couple of Eclipse troops situated near the Secondary Duct Control, Liara managed to catch the last few words exchanged between them.

"…don't care how long it takes, I don't want you to come back here until you find Captain Rogarth!" spat a violet asari clad in major's armor. By the look of her, she seemed to be somewhere in her mid-matron years, making her a senior member of the Eclipse order. Her features were hardened with experience and middle-age.

"He's gone, Major!" replied an indignant salarian, eyes crossed in agitation. "He went topside to meet with the Supervisor and we haven't seen him since!"

The asari was livid. "Then you'd better go up yourself and see if anyone's seen him use the elevators. He's assigned to the Prison District, what's he even doing going topside? I swear, _turians!_" She used the phrase like a curse. "They can manage the Blue Suns easily enough, but when we hire them they just bring a world of trouble!" Liara couldn't help but smirk faintly. It seemed Garrus and Thane had already gotten to work.

The salarian opened his wide mouth to comment, but the asari would have none of it. Grabbing him by the collar of his armor, she snarled, "_Go._ Find the Captain, bring his scaly ass back here. And if I hear one more word out of you," she threatened, ever so slightly squeezing the grunt's neck, "I'll rip out that fly-snatcher you call a tongue. Now _move_."

Giving him a little shove to illustrate this, the asari watched, purple lips pursed grimly, as he scampered off to carry out her orders, grumbling to himself, "No need to be so _rough_." Then, shaking her head dispassionately, she turned to face Liara.

"What is it, Initiate?" she inquired dejectedly, referring to the stripes painted across Liara's forearm. "Did _you_ find our missing turian friend?"

"No ma'am," Liara responded, forcing her expression to seem fearful and obedient. She stood at rapt attention, and allowed her fingers to reach her forehead in a respectful salute. Asari military (and paramilitary) structure was modelled closely after the social guidelines of their species. Respect for superiors, and _always_ for matrons and matriarchs. Liara figured watching her manners would be a good idea.

The major grunted in reply, but her expression softened marginally. Scrutinizing Liara's vibrant blue features, still young by asari measures, she snorted in derision. "Goddess," she lamented. "They keep sending them to me younger and younger every year. How old are you, kid?"

"One hundred and eight, Major. One hundred and nine in a few months," she stated, deciding that some honesty was necessary, as this asari was a matron, and could probably tell the difference anyway. Liara added an affectation of pride to her words as she declared her age, doing her best to fit the role.

The elder asari laughed softly. "Well, what can I do for you, soldier?"

Liara did her best to remain in character. "I've been assigned to this station recently from the mines off-site," she began, banking on the fact that the major was unaware that said mines did not exist. Hopefully the Broker's little deception could work in her favor. "I'm not used to a station that's so… big." Liara widened her eyes simple-mindedly, as if in awe, a relatively easy task, since the Hades Installation was an architectural marvel, and the scientist that still lived within her couldn't help but appreciate the genius of her prey. Returning her attention to the officer, she finished, confusedly, "I've been assigned to the Crew Deck, but I'm having trouble finding it. A very nice Captain told me it was somewhere in this direction, but I think he was confused—"

Here the major's interest, which had previously been distractedly amused by Liara's display of inexperience, was piqued. "Wait, _he?_ We don't have many turian captains here, soldier. Think carefully," she coached, as though to a small child, and Liara had to struggle to maintain her expression of wide-eyed stupor, "Was he wearing black armor? Anything associated with the prison district?"

"We have a prison district?" Liara inquired absentmindedly. She couldn't help it. Now that she was getting the hang of it, this roleplaying thing was kind of fun.

The asari winced in annoyance. "Yes or no, kid."

"He was wearing some shiny black armor, Major," Liara agreed, and the sweetness of her tone was almost bitter to the taste. "He's a bit tied up right now," she commented, rather pleased with her cleverness. "He said he was heading out of the compound, something about using a Mako—"

"He's _what?_" the beleaguered asari exclaimed, giving a start. Then, distractedly, she muttered to herself, "He'll be at the motor pool if I can still catch him. By the Goddess, what the hell is he up to now?"

The major moved to bolt off after her quarry, calling over her shoulder as she ran, "Watch the station for me, Initiate!" As she tore along the gangway towards the nearest lift, the major's parting words were barely audible. "…damn turians. When I catch up with him, I'm going to take that stun baton of his and shove it right up his scaly—"

What particular grievous injury the major intended to inflict on the turian Liara never learned, as the howl of the turbines picked up again below. The cavernous chamber amplified the noise, so that the din echoed off of the high walls and ceiling in an unearthly fashion.

With the major now out of the way, Liara strode confidantly toward the control terminal for the Secondary Duct Control, calling up the Admonitor's schematics on her omni-tool. Gale-force winds ran through the air system at all times, preventing personnel access along anything but the service ducts. According to the Admonitor, Liara had to access one of the main ducts from a hatch some two hundred meters beyond this chamber, from which she could make her way past the tight security that protected the entrance to the Shadow Broker's inner sanctum, although the mercenaries guarding it had no idea what really lay beyond those reinforced titanium doors.

The Broker, regardless of being the monster that he was, was still human insofar as he had to breathe. And as any assassin or decent burglar could tell you, a ventilation system was a weakness, a direct (albeit cramped) expressway into whatever vault or stronghold needed entrance.

But the Broker was smarter than that. On the surface and in such areas as Engineering, he could allow some oversight in his security, since any real threat entering his system would have been detected by his off-world sensors immediately, and he couldn't afford to instruct his personnel on the importance of their work without exposing his existence. Add into account the thousands of cameras scattered across the planet's surface, and monitoring his compound from within, and the Broker had more than made up for the relaxed troops. His very own electronic army protected him, and it was entirely loyal. Or had been, for so many long decades, until the Admonitor had changed his allegiances. Now technological marvels were blind to their activities, sensors relayed back nothing, and for twenty-four golden hours, a single solar day out of the many of months the Broker had spent cloistered away here, there was a flaw in his system. A hole in his net.

So if Liara managed to enter the air ducts, she could bypass the Broker's organic (and only) security, and reach her target.

Accessing the control panel, Liara quickly made some improvised modifications of her own, featuring such redecorations as removing the circuit breaker from within the control box and permanently wiring the switch into the OFF position with a well-placed biotic twist. Across the vast chamber, past dozens of other turbines, a single generator cut out. Its lack of productivity went unnoticed in the overal roar of the machinery, and if the Admonitor was right, the Broker wouldn't notice the system failure until the air in his apartment started to get a bit stale.

Consulting her schematics, Liara set off at a brisk pace away from the scene of her vandalism, making for the seemingly insignificant Access Vent 343, beyond which waited the greatest goal of the past two years of her life: the Shadow Broker, and vengeance.

**Epsilon Sphere, Global Positioning Coordinates [ERROR: Target not registering on surface], Subterranean Facility [CODENAME: HADES], 1407 hours**

Garrus halted halfway down the dimly lit maintenance corridor, turning to regard a rather small, dented, generally miserable little vent in the wall. "There aren't that many hiding places here; the Broker's not sloppy about his security. But we did manage to locate this service tunnel. It's been abandoned until they can get the ah… _facilities_ down the hall up and running again."

"Why would that shut down an entire wing?" Shepard asked out of curiosity.

"The vents are prone to, ahem… _flooding_." The turian grimaced at the thought.

Shepard was impressed. "You two managed to find out all of this in ten hours? I'd like to see what you could do in a week."

Absently, as he considered the small hatch, Garrus said, "Well, Hodgins down in Engineering and I have a Skyllian-Five Poker game scheduled next Tuesday, and I've got a date tonight with a very attractive asari who works in Security who's just dying to _arrest_ me. I've become rather popular, you see." Shepard for the life of him couldn't be certain if his friend was being facetious or not. Truth be told, both options were equally possible.

Glancing over his shoulder to be certain they weren't being watched, the turian knelt down, bringing the dismal little hole to eye level, before knocking comically on the metal grille, as one would on a door.

For a moment there was no response, and his knock merely echoed forlornly in the dark of the shaft, before there was a quiet squeaking sound, like that of a mouse, and the cover popped out of place.

Clambering out of the vent with as much dignity as one in his position could be expected to have, Thane Krios drew himself up fully, turning to acknowledge Shepard with a curt nod.

Thane had outfited himself in a grim cloth tunic, stained with grease and what looked suspiciously like dried blood. His bare feet extended out from the two-inches-too-long sackcloth pants he had donned as well. The prison uniform wasn't much too look at, in all, and standard fare for any typical Eclipse mercenary prisoner.

But it couldn't compare to Thane's face.

Shepard had to fight down a sense of sickness that overcame him at the sight of his friend, face bruised and bloodied, distorted at the cheekbones and jawline by temporary implants Mordin had installed not hours before. Thane's face had still not begun to fully recover from the procedure, but the damange was consistent with a prisoner that had received a particularly vicious beating, a common practice in mercenary jails, it could be safely assumed.

But the implants served another function. Going off of a prisoner log kept by the station, the team had aquired a holo of Liara's missing-in-action friend, the drell Feron. With this photograph, the _Normandy_'s doctors had done their best to give Thane a passing resemblance to the prisoner himself, which was easier than it sounded due to the fact that most drell looked extremely alike to outsiders. If the plan was going to work, they needed to swap out the wounded, helpless prisoner in the cell with their own agent, one capable of exploiting an "unlocked" door, and rejoining the team once they were ready to depart.

Thane looked with Feron's face in uncertainty at a ceiling-mounted camera that observed their corridor. The small, red recording light seemed to shine malignantly. "I am aware the Admonitor promised us immunity," he noted dryly, "But I still don't like standing in the open in front of security cameras. It goes against my instincts."

Shepard was more concerned with Thane than with the cameras.

Thane had readily volunteered at Shepard's suggestion, and while the commander had resented the necessity of the act, he knew that, with misguided electronic systems or not, the Eclipse were not going to let a prisoner transfer go unchecked. This would have to be done very precisely.

Their analysis of the system informed them that Feron was being kept within the Main Complex. However, thanks to the Admonitor, whatever information the guards received about who was currently inside their own prison would be faulty, always pointing to one of the three other, smaller prisons located within the complex. Eclipse took many prisoners, and exchanges between populations due to overcrowding or medical attention was not uncommon. Thane would be admitted, and Garrus and Shepard would simply walk out again, this time with Feron supported between them. Garrus would return Feron to Thane's "safe house," and assist him into a breather suit for the escape. Thane would expedite his own liberation utilizing the three handguns, seven knives, and one hold-out rifle that he was currently smuggling on his person. Shepard hadn't inquired about the details.

"Well, everything appears to be in order," the drell noted, smiling kindly. He winced in mild irritation as his implants protested, but Thane did his best not to show it.

Shepard grabbed the assassin by the shoulder supportively. "You don't have to do this, Thane."

But Thane merely shook his head (evidently wary of smiling at this point). "I have made up my mind, Shepard. The time to turn back has long since passed." His black eyes shone with determination as he stated, simply, "I am ready."

Shepard felt a rush of sympathy for Thane's condition, and gratitude and respect for his sacrifice, but decided Thane would appreciate efficiency and professionalism rather than expressions of thanks. "Right." He called out, pulling his yellow helmet over his head, "Care to lead the way, Warden?"

Garrus was already in costume and in the role. "Come on," he grunted to Thane, seizing him by the arm and applying restraining cuffs to his wrists. Steering the drell forward, while Shepard followed behind, rifle hefted, Garrus led them out onto the thouroughfare.

From the isolated, protected anonymity of their deserted corridor, Garrus guided his two followers into the light. As opposed to the dark, disued feel that had pervaded the maintenance hall, the public, open spaces of the Hades Facility were brightly lit and well-maintained. Stainless steel surfaces gleamed in all directions, as wide, tastefully decorated corridors succeeded in reducing the claustrophobic sense of being trapped underground by providing plenty of space to walk side-by-side with others, and a relatively high ceiling. It seemed mercenaries really did care about beautifying their workplace. Shepard found that thought extremely odd.

Even so, there was only so much that could be done to a metal underground maze. Making their way past scores of armored and uniformed individuals, as well as legions of maintenance crews, Shepard and his squad couldn't help but notice the strictly linear, trapped sense they felt at being contained in the long corridors. Frequently the passage branched off at intersections, or was punctuated by office or stairwell doors. Judging from the area schematics Shepard had pulled up on his internal visor, the facility was extremely complex, and spanned nearly two kilometers in diameter at its widest point.

Shepard had just been taking an interest in what appeared to be a layout for a gymnasium some two flights below their current position, when Garrus spoke up. "Move it, prisoner," he barked, his voice rendered hostile and mechanical through his helmet's external speaker. Thane did his best to stagger pathetically, feet dragging.

"Recruit," Garrus called over his shoulder, "Back me up. The prison's this way."

Giving Thane a theatrical little shove in the small of his back, Garrus led them along the corridor, past a group of Eclipse sisters who sat, off-duty, observing their procession with mild disinterest. Evidently this sight was a common one. Even so, one of the younger asari mercenaries shouted, "Ease up!" at Garrus as he hustled Thane forward. It seemed Thane was doing his best to garner sympathy with his performance.

They took a sharp right at Garrus's instruction, while the main tunnel continued on indefinately. Moving down this new, tighter corridor, maybe three meters wide, they arrived at the Main Prison Complex after several minutes.

A solitary reinforced door was built into a titanium bulkhead at the end of the corridor. There was no evident handle. A malign red light gleamed over the threshold, set beside a dormant bulb. An asari outfitted in a uniform similar to Garrus's flanked the entrance. Her bright eyes widened in recognition of Garrus as he approached, prisoner in tow.

"Captain," she called out, waving. Her expression, previously professional, broke into a white smile. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon. The Major's been searching everywhere for you."

Shepard quietly hoped Garrus had a good excuse, but the turian calmly diffused the situation. "Promise you won't tell?" he inquired seductively, and the asari flushed.

"Please, Captain, not in front of the troops," she protested earnestly, but she smiled as she said it, undermining the effect. In a low voice that Shepard had to crane his neck to one side to hear, she asked softly, "Are we still on for tonight, then?"

Shepard quietly laughed inside his helmet, astounded by Garrus's abilities. But the master was far from finished.

"I don't know, Enyaia," he moaned, using the officer's first name to sweeten the sentiment. "I've got so much work to do. This prisoner here," he grunted, his voice deepening in mock-frustration, "Needs to be seen to at the Infirmary. We got a bit too… _overzealous_ at our last interrogation."

Here the asari's expression grew professional, as she appraised the prisoner coldly, any warmth previously visible on her face now wiped away as she contemplated her work. "Yes," she affirmed, consulting a handheld datapad. "Prisoner 032 was signed out only a couple of hours ago." It seemed the Admonitor's information had done the trick. The Eclipse, and, more importantly, their master, had no idea that their prisoner remained under their watch.

The asari glanced at Garrus's visored face. "He's back already? For the Infirmary?"

"I've got to see him there and back. Problem is, I left my passcard back up topside." Or rather, the unfortunate captain whose identity Garrus had assumed had inconveniently placed his identification elsewhere prior to his incapacitation.

Shepard, idling expressionlessly behind Garrus in the guise of an Eclipse trooper, could already sense where he was going with this, and was loving every second of it.

"So," Garrus began mock-tentatively, "If you could just buzz me through, I could deal with this meatbag," (here he cast Thane a dirty look, and the drell cringed appropriately) "And end my shift."

The asari warden looked apprehensive. "I don't know. Protocols are pretty clear—"

"I'd be ever so _grateful_," Garrus tempted, and at last the warden's will crumbled.

"Okay, just go through quickly," she warned, tapping a combination into a small keypad where the doorknob should have been. The violent red light flicked off, and the green bulb flared to life. A resounding _buzz_ signalled personnel beyond the door of this, and the prison hatch slid soundlessly aside.

Shepard quickly stepped through, as did Thane (perhaps a bit too eagerly) in their effort to distance themselves from Garrus's flirtatious conversation.

"I'll see you tonight, okay?" he reassured Enyaia, and she nodded excitedly.

"I'm off my shift at 1600 hours," she called, as the metal hatch slid shut once more.

Garrus turned his masked face away from the closed door to find the Eclipse soldier and the drell prisoner both staring at him unabashedly. Beneath his tinted visor, Garrus flushed.

"Sweet girl," he stated innocently.

"Heart of stone, Garrus, toying with her like that," Shepard communicated cruelly through their private channel. "I didn't actually think she existed. You _are_ good."

The turian shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a pity I'll have to pass on the poker game," he reflected, as he seized Thane rather painfully by the handcuffs and marched him forward. Granted, this was rather necessary, since the assassin had started to smirk wickedly, something entirely out of character with a your garden-variety beaten, half-starved prisoner.

"Come on, then," he ordered, and Shepard hurried to catch up.

The prison block was oddly peaceful, as Shepard quickly noticed as he marched in Garrus's wake, his yellow-lit visor scanning left and right methodically. Artificial light shone brightly overhead, but only across the main aisle of Cell Block D. The shadows to their left and right were deep and gloomy.

The floor beneath their feet was no longer metallic, but rather a hard, unforgiving concrete. On either side, rows of cell doors, transparent and apparently seamless, ran parallel to the main aisle. Each was basically equipped with spartan accomodations: a low, bare cot, a water tap, and a dark hole in the corner of each cell, so dark and forlorn that Shepard decided that it would be best not to contemplate just how often those latrines were cleaned, if ever.

He quietly seethed at the cruelty of the Broker, who, in possession of so much wealth, could deliberately deny the most basic comforts to a prisoner. But not for much longer, if he and Liara had their way with him.

Strangely, though, all of the cells were empty, merely stood, expectantly, as if already desiring to swallow them up. What few political prisoners the Shadow Broker did have, they were doubtless not kept here.

Shepard was just beginning to wonder at this, when Garrus spoke up. "Okay, 032," he shouted back at Thane, a note of triumph in his voice at his success as getting them to Feron's holding cell, "Here we are."

They drew level with the last unit on the cell block, one of a set of six cells that utilized solid titanium bulkheads as their doors, rather than simple plastisteel. Evidently these accomodations were reserved for those guests of the Broker (although the Eclipse probably believed they were enemies from rival gangs) who had earned his great displeasure. Feron, having aided Liara's escape with Shepard's dead (and therefore insanely valuable) body, undoubtably fell into this category.

"This is the place, then," Thane muttered under his breath while Shepard made a show of working with his handcuffs, and Garrus chatted up the solitary guard who kept a silent vigil at the end of the line. "Garrus will disable the guard when I signal, and you quickly make the switch. Take Feron, leave me in the cell, unlocked if you don't mind. I'd rather not take too long to rejoin you," he stated pleasantly, a wry smirk at his scaly lips. "Leave the guard, too. Her body will only arouse suspicion."

Shepard was wearing a mask, but something of his thoughts must have been readable in his stance. As Shepard worked the complicated combination Garrus had provided him to the cell door, the drell commented, his dark eyes boring into Shepard's back, as the metal hatch cycled open, "Do not feel guilty about my work, Shepard. I do what I must just as you do. And it is reversible, the good Doctor Chakwas assures me."

"_No_," Shepard breathed, his back straightening as though electrified. "This isn't _right_…"

"Shepard," the drell said, a note of concern in his low voice, "You are taking my surgery far too seri—"

But his own voice died as his eyes followed the path of Shepard's, into the open cell.

Beyond the threshold, a bare, concrete box presented itself to them, devoid of any and all furnishings. The floor was smeared with blood and an assortment of other filth that one did not dare describe, the walls were ravaged by the touch of desperate, hungry fingers, hopelessly working their nails to the bone in a futile attempt at freedom.

It was a vision of hell, a terrible pit in which no soul, not even the Broker's, deserved to fester, let alone for two years as Feron had.

But this was not what shocked Shepard, and Thane, and the Eclipse guard on duty who stood some way behind them, evidently bored with Garrus's small-talk, whose eyes picked up on only one thing— the cell was empty.

Feron was gone.

Before any of them could recover, the guard, not stunned as he should have been by the equally shocked Garrus, stated dumbly, "Wait. What are you doing? The prisoner's been moved by orders from the Administration. They said he wouldn't be coming back! Who's your supervisor?" she inquired, but they gave no answer.

This was a new development. They hadn't counted on Feron being physically _gone_. The Admonitor had promised to make him disappear from their records, not from his cell.

Someone else knew they were coming for Feron.

"Security breach in D-Wing!" the officious warden shouted into her lapel, suddenly realizing the implications of this mix-up. "Spies in Cell Block—"

Thane spun about, faster than thought, and swiftly garroted the jailer with his handcuffs. She gave a brief struggle, feet kicking and elbows thrashing, before going limp. She tumbled to the floor, unconscious.

But the damage was done. In each of their ears, EDI's voice broadcast over their encrypted channel, "Warning! Security measures activating! I can only stall them for seconds. Garrus," she directed severely, "Send Legion the signal."

Without a word Garrus palmed his omni-tool, sending out a precoded signal to the geth platform hidden out in the airless hills topside.

Legion, receiving Garrus's last-resort signal, followed his programmed contingencies. With a drone to himself of, "We are complying," each of his subprograms, with access to the installation's surveillance systems, projected an artificial image of itself marching across the field of vision of dozens of surface cameras that had previously erased him from their vision under the Admonitor's orders. The geth had spent his ten hours carefully rendering these images to hold up under a cursory investigation. Hundreds, if not thousands, of virtual geth marched across the barren, rocky plains of the Epsilon Sphere, not a kilometer from the nearest mercenary outpost.

Garrus's invisible army was on the move.

Immediately, the automated security systems took over, triggering a base-wide alert regarding the inbound enemy troops, overriding the delayed alert from the guard they'd just knocked out. Personal communications between soldiers and guards were cut off, as the entire base received the pre-programmed directives assigned by the Shadow Broker: neutralize the external threat.

"Your cover has been blown, strike team," EDI stated. "I cannot communicate on this channel any longer or risk exposing you. The mercenaries will not remain occupied for long," she warned, before signing off.

Immediately bolting down the corridor, Thane ripping off his handcuffs (which had never been locked), the team bolted past a crowd of confused Eclipse troops, too preoccupied to notice the two guards and the prisoner who ran through their midst.

Weaving between the throng, the trio whipped out their (in Thane's case, concealed) firearms, and quickly cycled through the doors. Ignoring Enyaia's indignant calls after Garrus, they took off, making for the single most important set of coordinates marked on their base schematics: the Administration complex, and the Shadow Broker.

**Epsilon Sphere, Global Positioning Coordinates [ERROR: Target not registering on surface], Subterranean Facility [CODENAME: HADES], 1436 hours**

The pounding of their feet was as the roar of a stampede as the operatives sprinted pell-mell through the corridors of the Hades Installation. All around them was a blur of colors and shadows as Shepard and his team weaved their way past mobilizing squads of mercenaries, twisting and turning down the serpentine, seemingly endless corridors of the underground facility.

All around them, shouts of alarm went out as the Eclipse soldiers prepared for their massive counterassault against the nonexistent geth threat from above. They paid no mind to the trio of spies who grew ever closer to their elusive goal.

As they ran, cameras, previously idle and nonresponsive to their presence, now took exception to their activities, tracking their progress with their malevolent, intelligent gazes. The Admonitor's protection wasn't working anymore. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Alarms sounded at the presence of these unidentified trespassers, but they went unnoticed by the station's platoons, already alerted to the presence of intruders— albeit an entirely different, imaginary one.

And so it came to pass that they arrived at the entrance to the Administrative Complex. Curving around a corridor, Shepard saw a short hallway, terminating in a single, massive door, now devoid of its previous set of guards. Its gunmetal-gray sheen shimmered arrogantly, heavy shutter remaining immovably fixated, and Shepard swore at the sight of it.

The schematics the Admonitor had provided them with prior to his disappearance indicated that nothing short of a small-yield warhead would penetrate the bulkhead, and that was something the squad just didn't have. In addition, the shutter weighed an approximate two tons, and so would prove unopenable manually except by a small cadre of krogan battlemasters, and even then they would have been complaining of strained backs for weeks.

No, they had only one chance.

Hailing the _Normandy_, Shepard called, "EDI, we're at the door. Can you get us through?"

This was the most important part of the plan. The Admonitor's codes might be able to penetrate the inner sanctum's door, but then again, with the sudden failure of the old man's powers, this seemed less and less likely. They waited in silence as EDI ran through several calculations, listening to the distant roar of the charging troops and the wail of emergency klaxons.

Sooner or later, someone was going to hear the Broker's call for help. And when that happened—

"_There they are!_" a shrill cry announced, and at its furious and surprisingly hurt tone, Shepard knew it had to be directed at them. Turning about guiltily, he caught sight of Warden Enyaia, flanked by her personal force of correctional officers, storming down the hall. Something told Shepard that the woman was after them because of Garrus's lies, rather than their covert plan. Being caught in a restricted area just complicated matters, and the fact that the turian had soundly elbowed her out of his way as they escaped probably didn't help either, although Garrus, in his defense, had been trying to let her down easy.

"Garrus—" Shepard began warningly, as EDI chattered in his ear.

"Someone has attempted to alter the encryptions. But since it is so incredibly complex, this has worked against the Broker. He hasn't had enough time to completely rewrite them. I can utilize the Admonitor's backdoor program to gain access, but it will take some time—"

"Just _do_ it, EDI!" Shepard shouted, bringing his Mattock heavy rifle to bear.

"Complying."

Enyaia (apparently still sore at the manipulative turian) took the first shot, which deflected off of Garrus's chestplate, and her backup was quick to follow. The entrance foyer was devoid of any cover, and Shepard's team was forced to throw themselves against the wall to minimize the targets they presented. Firing back hastily as his shields absorbed the first salvo of rounds, Shepard was vaguely aware of EDI chiming, "Forty percent complete."

Their return fire drove the assailants back, causing Enyaia to shriek as she dove to cover behind a bulkhead with the rest of her fellow guards. One salarian took a round directly to the helmet and tumbled back to smash into the deck-plating. He landed, umoving.

"Sixty percent."

The firestorm of discharged rounds raged furiously, as Garrus did his best to guard the unshielded Thane from their attack. But a shot from an Eclipse Heavy's shotgun caused him to stagger, kinetic barriers flaring violently. Thane dove for the tiny recess provided by the shutter frame, firing as he went. His first shot went wide, richocheting down the hall in a spectacular display. The second clipped an Eclipse trooper in the chest, punching through her Barrier and downing her in a plume of acrid black smoke. The third caught Enyaia on the reload, and with a bloodcurdling scream she dropped her sidearm, gauntleted hand smoldering.

A final shot from one of the remaining three troopers shattered Thane's own modest Barrier defense, striking him in the abdomen as he peeked from cover. Doubling over in pain, the drell fell to his knees.

"Eighty percent."

Garrus was just starting to recover himself as Enyaia and her remaining support group fled. Even with the confusion aboveground, they would no doubt return with reinforcements soon. Too soon for Shepard and his team to confront the Broker.

"Go, Shepard! Finish the job!" the turian cried, retrieving his lost rifle and taking off after the soldiers in hot pursuit. His black-armored form was soon gone from sight, but the sounds of his rifle discharges echoed unendingly in the catacomb-like expanses of Hades.

Running over to Thane's downed form, Shepard struggled to keep flashbacks of Tali's injury from bubbling to the forefront of his mind. Turning the drell over, Shepard was just figuring out if he was unconscious, or worse, when he sprang to life with a great gasp, his reflexive punch at the figure leaning over his body nearly knocking Shepard out cold.

Leaping to the side, Shepard helped Thane to his feet. The drell didn't even seem at a loss on account of his brief nap, and through the bullet hole in his tunic Shepard caught glimpses of a light alloy jacket. Thane was alright, if very badly winded.

But he didn't pause to dwell on this. "Which way did he go?" Thane asked directly, instantly comprehending the situation, noticing Garrus had vanished. When Shepard gestured in Garrus's general direction, the drell took off like a shot, leaving the commander quite alone.

"One hundred percent. Bypass complete," EDI informed him, but it was unnecessary. The shutter, anticlimactically, rose with hardly a sound, reatreating into a niche in the ceiling. Beyond the threshold to the Administrative wing, Shepard perceived only a yawning darkness, waiting to swallow him whole.

Without a second thought, and sparing only a single backwards glance out of concern for his friends in the brightly lit world he now left behind, Shepard stepped confidantly into the gathering dark.

Immediately the shutter dropped shut behind him, casting Shepard into complete blackness. EDI's uplink was simultatneously silenced.

That was ominous.

Activating his night vision, he stalked forward, guided by the Admonitor's directions on his Heads-Up-Display, through the gloom.

There was complete and utter silence: impenetrable and absolute. The stillness seemed to press in against him, threatening to smother his fragile life within its deathly folds. But Shepard shook off these feelings. Time was running out. Soon the Eclipse would learn the error of their ways, and come storming back to their master's aid.

His footsteps made no sound, and Shepard was overwhelmed with the sensation of being trapped in vacuum. Something didn't add up. The last bastion of the Shadow Broker, he had imagined, would have been aglow with light, loud with the noise of a galaxy of secrets and age-old deceptions. This place had all of the eerie calm of a boneyard.

Liara was in here, somewhere, if everything had gone well. And the thought of losing her once again terrified him more than the dark and the silence combined. Fighting back a snarl of fury at the thought that it was the Broker that had kept them apart for so long, Shepard drew near a dimly outlined doorframe, illuminated from beyond by some eerie light.

His gauntleted hand had just relinquished the stock of his weapon, and was reaching out slowly, carefully, yet determinedly, fingers stretching forward. He was so close now. So close—

"_Put down your weapon and surrender, intruder,_" commanded a terrible voice. It reverberated throughout the dark, shattering the stillness and echoing within the confines of Shepard's helmet, as it addressed him both aloud and through all radio channels. It seemed to rend his brain in two. The cacophony was so disorienting that Shepard nearly tore away his helmet in pain. With a start, Shepard thought he recognized the voice of Sovereign, and its deep resonsance was indeed quite similar to the ancient Reaper vanguard.

"_I will reiterate: surrender. You will have no further warning. Your allies have deserted you. Your feeble plan born of a feebler mind has failed. I do not know who you are, but secrets are my skill. I will not remain ignorant for long._" His ears rang in agony, but still he held his ground.

Shepard had no intention of surrendering, but even if he had desired to throw down his arms and raise the white flag, he wouldn't have had enough time to do so before the voice spoke again.

"_If you have come this far, then you must have some guess at my identity. That is unacceptable. But it means you understand the gravity of your situation: I will kill you, interloper, you have my word for it._"

The pain was too much for Shepard. Fingers tightening on his rifle's grip, he gritted his teeth and ripped his helmet away, taking a faltering step forward. His pain was instantly relieved, but this only aroused the sepulchral voice to laughter.

"_Ah, Commander Shepard,_" it sneered. "_We meet again at last. But I am forgetting my manners. You have introduced yourself, and I shall do the same._"

A brief silence, like the darkness between galaxies.

"_I am the Shadow Broker._"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Okay everyone, I'm back! Sorry to keep you waiting, but life has been difficult recently. The final chapter is here, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Look forward to an epilogue within a few days, and Part II soon to follow (I promise).**

**The Sanctum, 1457 hours**

There was only the darkness. There was nothing else. A void, deep and impenetrable, as cold and dead as the furthest fringes of space. It was alien, sterile, devoid of all life; a vision of the perpetual night that lay across the universe untold epochs ago. It was terrible. It was all-knowing.

It was _perfect_.

The shadows concealed him. Their spectral powers distorted his shamefully mortal form within their invisible, kissing embrace. They protected him from the eyes of a galaxy, and allowed him to prowl it unseen.

The shadows armed him. They came, drawn in from the farthest reaches of the universe to here: its true center. The secrets and hatreds and terrors of a thousand worlds, and a thousand more, slithered and crawled and drifted here, to burrow and nestle in the festering bastion he provided them. Through them, he could coerce and twist the minds and actions of rulers, warlords, senators, _kings_.

The shadows knew him. Secrets, lies, truths, they all bent to his will. Here, in his darkest sanctum, his deepest cloister, they whispered themselves in his ear, wound about his blackened soul with their mortal coils.

And how they _thrived_! Secrets lived, they breathed, they were born and they died. And when they were abandoned, these dirty little creatures, skeletons that had elected to escape the closets of billions of beings, sought shelter. Like orphaned children, they flocked to him, embracing him gently, hopefully. He knew them better than he knew himself. He was their father, their protector, their master. Truths that could topple governments, end lives, ignite war and uncover assassination, all of these things he knew. None of them surprised him. It was an evil, hateful little galaxy. It was his duty to harbor the truth from a society that no longer deserved it.

He made some concessions to the ignorant masses, who lived their lives in fumbling helplessness. He would provide them with tantalizing glimpses of the truth of their pitiful existence, never enough to conquer or to gain victory in the endless game they all played, only enough to whet their appetite. Some of his children he would sell, trade away to secure more, stronger ones. Like a master chess player, he knew when it would prove most advantageous to sacrifice his pawns. An economy built on the sin of a galaxy rose up around him, encircling him in its shady folds.

And he, the mastermind, the orchestrator, the conspirator against the people of a thousand worlds over, he sat in his comfortable darkness, reaping the black bounty he had sown with such care. Secrets really did live. They were so eager to be free, to grow under his watch, and, when the time was right, to launch themselves back into the galaxy that had shunned them, to wreak havoc and despair. All he had to do was groom them, feed them, trade for them and broker their eventual rise to prominence. They were his faithful subjects, a spectral legion that knelt only to him. And he… he was their ruler. Their overlord.

Their _prince_.

And so he lounged in quiet repose, his very mind sequestered in deepest thought. Like a beast grown accustomed to its environment, he seemed at home in his black realm. He was in his element. Upon his dark throne he sat, silent as the grave that was his palace. The shadows seemed to sprawl languidly upon him, all at once embracing and enshrouding him, their obscene tendrils of night, their wisps of smoke, curling and probing outward, like the deep roots of some nightmarish plant.

His inclined his head thoughtfully, his hands clasped before him as if in prayer, and yet there was something sacrilegious in the act of it. Within the gloom, his true face was as a mask unto itself: unmoving, expressionless, gazing out beyond the gloomy, uncertain world he ruled into the galaxy he could not see directly, but comprehended fully nevertheless.

This creature, for he was not a man anymore, reveled in his own shadow. The perception of the thick mantle of darkness that lay across him was his only pleasure. The chamber he occupied was irrelevant, for it was only a home for his deep silhouette. His entire existence was concentrated here, at the heart of the galaxy.

A heart of darkness.

The galactic core, so many billions of light years away, was not the true center of the universe. It was a place of light, a congregation of stars that outshone all creation. But what was light but a temporary phenomenon, a cosmic accident, a fleeting state of existence all but doomed to eventually burn itself out? Just as color, and life, was born of the presence of light, darkness was the death of it. It was the perfect organism. Living, but not needing air. Surviving, but needing no sustenance. Entirely self-sufficient in its lack of all definition or form.

It was the solution to the galactic problem. In its simplicity he found solace; in its silence he heard truth.

A galaxy so filled with light, illuminated by the myriad stars and the vast Mass Relays, cast the darkest shadows. These secrets, these terrors, these crimes against existence that _deserved_ to be exiled into his arms, these were the children of the galaxy. Of society. He just took them in when they were inevitably forgotten, these bastard children, these toxic by-products of an infinitely more poisonous civilization.

He was not the monster. The galaxy was the monster. These secrets were not his doing.

And so satisfied by his own rhetoric, the creature was content to sit in utter stillness, he the very center of the universe, a black hole where his heart should have been.

There was no light in his perpetual darkness. He had no use for it. He had grown beyond it. Evolved. Improved.

Transcended.

He was like a god, the single, greatest being in existence, rendered flawless because of his simple perfection, and perfect because he was flawless. He was the shadow cast by the galaxy, devoid of all defect. Formless. Flowing.

Free.

There was only one feature, one distinguishing mark, within his otherwise bleak and endless shadow, that held any meaning for him. To him, it held all of the allure of stars to other, lesser beings. It gleamed overhead, and all around him. It shimmered along conduits that ran across a ceiling that was otherwise cast into shadow. It crackled and sparked across access panels and computer readouts, upon otherwise dark screens. It snaked across the floor through power cables that ran, untamed, like great serpents that fed into his perfect machine.

It shone with a malignant light, bright green and sickly. A continuous stream of information, flowing freely through his system, brought in from tens of thousands of agents, hundreds of thousands of cameras, monitors, sensors, and recording devices. A single, monumental network.

If the galaxy was the body of his kingdom, then here was where the veins and arteries met, and circulated themselves back at his discretion. Here was the heart.

The never-ending flow of zeros and ones, cascading in cryptic streams of binary code, hummed with a virulent energy as the machines that surrounded him, inlaid into the walls and floor, processed the billions of pieces of information that he bought, sold, and stole regularly. If to be a god was to be all-knowing, then he was the greatest of beings.

All was perfect. All was as it should be. The entire galaxy, countless individuals, governments, worlds, and minds, codified and encrypted, boiled down to raw data that could fit within the palm of his hand. All the universe was in order, all was safely, reassuringly predictable. He knew everything. He held all the cards.

Save for one piece of rampant data within his otherwise flawless system. Out of all of his millions of transactions, through so many of his agents, only one job had ever truly eluded him. Only one task had succeeded in defeating him, abandoning him to failure. It was the most important brokerage of all.

Yes, only one being had ever escaped his plans, evaded the network, and had defied his perfect calculations. Just one, a person no more real to him than any piece of data, but more significant than any.

He had plans. The Reapers were coming, and he intended to survive. He was never one to procrastinate: he had built his empire on cunning and nerves, with wit and deception. He had already begun the most important operation of all, over two years ago.

Alas, it was this lone mission, this single transaction, which had been the anomaly in his grand scheme. The plan to secure the body that was so necessary to his survival had failed. The Collectors had backed out of the deal. Now he heard reports they were dead.

But it all mattered not. And as he reflected upon this, the first sign of a smile, thin and cruel, touched his blank face. He would never be outdone. Not by the Alliance, or the Council, or the Reapers, even. Not because of the emotional, illogical, so irritatingly sentient actions of a single asari in her quest to rescue her beloved. Why couldn't they understand there was more at stake than their personal happiness? Why wouldn't they accept their role, as two more pawns in the great game, rather than fight so stubbornly, so _predictably_, to the end?

But no matter, no matter. And no need to grow angry reflecting upon it. Emotions were weakness, after all. It had been emotions that had driven Doctor T'Soni in her one great crusade against him. They were too weak, too irrelevant, too human to be of any use. They were an evolutionary quirk that should have been stamped out long ago.

Emotions bred failure. He had no time for that.

Because at long last, his final, greatest plan was coming to fruition. The only being to ever escape the long arm of his organization was so close now. For the first time in a long time, within the timeless expanses of his world, his plans to survive the Reaper invasion seemed not so hopeless after all.

He was close. _So close_.

And at last, as he bathed in the shadows that were the galaxy's and his own, waiting in triumphant silence, the plan came full circle. He didn't even have to lift a finger. The equation was solved. The final variable was in place.

The man he needed was so much nearer than all that.

He was walking through his front door.

Shepard's eyes roved carefully over the dark surfaces that encircled him. Their vague, formless curvatures and shapes defied all attempts at classification. The shadows were impenetrable, only recoiled, like a tensed serpent, as his approach. Beyond his immediate field of vision, all was dark. The artificial night concealed all beneath its deep penumbra, and Shepard was left alone, to fumble in their unknowable depths.

He didn't like operating blind, but he'd lost his helmet, and his night vision, some twenty paces back, and since then the gloom had deepened greatly. The Shadow Broker had him right where he wanted him. Shepard was in his world now.

Suddenly he knew what is was to be herded, guided by an invisible hand along a predetermined path. Caged, toyed with…

Hunted.

Everything had been part of the Broker's plan. All along. Shepard's gauntleted hand sought the reassuring presence of his pistol in its holster, his keen eyes searching blindly, rendered completely useless by the sheer mass the dark seemed to possess. It weighed itself upon his eyes and his chest, as though seeking to squeeze the life out of him, like a snared bird in the coils of a monstrous leviathan.

He could have been anywhere. The furthest depths of a dead ocean, the dark side of an alien moon. Cut off from the rest of his universe, Shepard felt so very alone. His mind teemed with shadows as the darkness closed in.

A memory of death. A childhood nightmare. A flash of a jungle world, set afire from above. The last words of a dear friend, as he laid down his life for the galaxy. The final warning of a long-dead race. The screams of a dying species. The charred, burned corpse of his enemy, rising once again to battle, with eyes like fire. The sight of a creature, neither organic nor machine, drifting inexorably through space. The bloody sunrise over the windswept tundra of Akuze, the end of the longest night of his life.

Shepard gasped in fear, overcome by the secrets the shadows knew, that they whispered so quietly in his ear. It was as though someone stood close enough to press their lips to his ears, but when he lashed out, his fingers caught only the retreating tails of shadows.

But even in the depth of the dark, he knew light. He had but to shut his eyes and the shadows would surrender their cold grip. Glimpses of what he remembered, what he loved, what he fought for.

Visions of the _Normandy_, sailing across the stars, over worlds painted in colors no tongue had words for; a memory of his first Earthrise, seen from the Luna Academy, as the mass of green, blue, and white rose above the serene moonscape to dominate the heavens; of his friends, his family, side-by-side with him as he fought and laughed and cried.

A momentary flash of blue, brighter than the sea, purer than the sky. That singular moment of peace overcame him, and he broke his eyes open to gaze upon the pitiful darkness with an iron will. She was with him.

He was not alone.

The shadows seemed to sense his resolve, and he could almost feel their hurried retreat, as they regrouped in distant corners and waited hungrily.

"_Shepard_," a voice called out through the dense gloom. A voice like frozen nitrogen, sharp and cold, and yet inexplicably deep. "_Lay down your arms. Surrender, and I will kill you quickly._"

The bass tones seemed to emanate from every direction. Shepard worked to maintain his composure, eyes expertly training themselves in the direction the words seemed to be directed from. Pistol raised at shoulder level, he swept the room in its sights. A cone of light cut a path through the darkness.

It would be best to keep the Broker talking. "Not just yet, thanks," Shepard growled, devoting most of his energy into keeping his guard up. There was no telling what surprises lay in wait in the dark. "I've got this thing about dying, you see."

"_A pity. I would have preferred that this exchange remained… civilized._"

"Civilized? Like your bargaining with the Collectors?" A note of anger crept into his voice, but he kept it in check. "You tried to sell me like a slave!"

The cold voice was unrepentant. "_It was a simple trade. Your corpse for credits. I was… sadly interrupted. But perhaps circumstances worked out in my favor after all. I lost a single asset to gain a much greater one. Sacrificed a pawn for a queen._"

_This is all just a game to him_, Shepard realized with a sickening lurch of his stomach. He had to be stopped. Now.  
"What are you talking about?" he demanded, aiming his flashlight at the source of a nearby humming sound. A low-lying circuit board was brought into view, pythonlike cables snaking outward from the chassis. He directed his attention elsewhere.

"_Of course, the benefits were unforeseen, even by myself. Had you not been revived by that fool Illusive Man, it would have escaped my notice._"

The Cerberus leader wouldn't have taken kindly to abuse. Shepard mentally archived that little bit to laugh about later. If there was a later. And being stuck deep in hostile territory, blind and vulnerable in the dark, his odds were looking shorter and shorter.

"Why don't you come out where I can see you?" Shepard baited, sweeping the pistol widely as he awaited a response.

"_It was the Reaper,_" the Broker plowed on. "_The derelict Reaper Cerberus found in low orbit over Mnemosyne. Its project lead, Doctor Chandana, was in my employ. I received word that the Reaper was no longer operational, but you proved otherwise, didn't you Shepard? It had indoctrinated my agents. It was operational. It was exactly what I needed._"

Ice water rushed through his veins. Whatever interest the Broker had in Reaper technology, it couldn't be good. "No, I destroyed it. I—"

"_Decayed its orbit and scuttled the ship. Yes, I am painfully aware of that,_" the sepulchral voice growled, for once a tinge of emotion coloring its otherwise robotic tones. "_I thought what I sought would be lost to me once again. I'd been promised such technology before—_"

Now it was Shepard's turn to interrupt. "Too bad for you Liara interrupted that particular deal," he barked antagonistically. "You're a fool to think you can ever wield Reaper tech. It's destroyed stronger minds than yours before." He grinned smugly, but in reality his heart was racing. The Broker was toying with him. He had to get out of here. Shepard just had to keep him talking.

The Broker was happy to oblige. "_Indeed. Doctor T'soni's interference caused the Collectors to back out of the deal. I thought that what was denied me by trade I could procure by theft. I have long since kept tabs on your communications, Shepard, until recently. Most irksome of the Illusive Man to block me from your system. A crude virus, but effective._"

Shepard couldn't help himself. "The Illusive Man did that?" They'd assumed the virus was hostile. Why was the Cerberus leader still assisting Shepard, after he'd botched his plans for the Collector base?

"_His assistance was short-lived, I assure you. Regardless,_" the voice of the dark intoned, "_Your artificial intelligence's data mine of the Reaper provided me with confirmation of what I needed. A single object, yet infinitely significant. I was dismayed when you crashed the ship, but my artifact was considerably small, and being of Reaper-make, it survived the impact._"

_This is bad,_ Shepard realized. The mission team had set out to assassinate the Broker, but now they'd stumbled onto something much more sinister.

"So why haven't you used this weapon then?" he called out, praying Liara was in position. He could tell things were about to heat up.

"_Because, you basic creature, some weapons don't require pointing or shooting, although I'm certain that notion is entirely unfamiliar to you,_" the Shadow Broker chided. "_Some gifts are far more powerful than any primitive gun. I have long since acquired the Reaper implants from the crash site, and I've made a few… modifications. There will be no indoctrination on my part. My mind is far too valuable to waste._"

"You're insane!" Shepard cried, true horror creeping into his voice. "You can't use it! If you're so smart, then you'll know what those upgrades did to Saren! They rob you of your free will, turn you into a husk! Just listen to reason—"

"_Enough_." The Shadow Broker's voice seemed smug now, even through the vocal filters. "_Do not attempt to garner my sympathy now, Shepard. I have all the pieces of the puzzle, save for one._"

Shepard silently cursed. How did he always get into these situations?

"Let me guess—" he began, words dripping with sarcasm.

This elicited a single chuckle from the Broker, a burst of static over the intercom, and even grossly distorted by the synthesizer, it still came across as insincere. "_Quite right, Commander. I hesitate to integrate the Reaper implants until I am certain I possess all the skills I require to properly marshal the data. I am an exceptional being, Shepard, but Prothean intellect cannot be learned. It must be inherited._"

Shepard began to instinctively back away from the source of the sound, keen to keep his guard up. Fingers tightening around the grip of his Phalanx pistol in preparation, he responded, "Sorry. The Beacons were destroyed, and the Thorian. Saren and I were the only ones they touched, and he's gone now. The Cipher dies with me."

"_Incorrect_," the voice asserted, and Shepard would have described its tone as _cheery_. "_Prothean technology, like your pathetic Council, is based off of scavenged Reaper technology, and all I need to understand it is locked inside your mind. A shame, that such profound ability resides in such a humble intellect. But not for much longer. You've pestered me for far too long, Shepard. I have outmaneuvered you at every turn._"

There was a pause, and Shepard could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped a half-dozen degrees.

"_Checkmate._"

Light. Blinding, searing light. It coursed outward from high-kilowatt power grid strips, driving back the shadows and casting Shepard in stark relief. He reflexively brought a hand up to shield his blinded eyes from the glare, glancing downward.

A critical mistake. Any second now, the hail of bullets would come raining down, and it would all be over.

But no shots came. After a brief pause, Shepard glanced up, forcing his eyes to adjust to the harsh illumination a few seconds earlier than he would have liked. Blinking fiercely, he squinted to discern the shadowy figure silhouetted directly ahead of him. Upon some sort of raised dais he stood, a heart of pure blackness within the halo of radiance.

The light was not natural, and, as Shepard realized as his eyes focused, it did not seem to keep the shadows properly at bay. It was sterile, clinical and cold. He felt like a test animal caught in a trap.

The figure was definitely human; male, by the shape of him, of middling height and thin stature. His features were obscured still by the damned light, but Shepard could see hands raised in mock-applause. The synthetic voice spoke again, and now it seemed at odds with the humble form before him.

"_Bravo, Commander. We meet at last, face-to-face._"

_Face-to-space is more like it_, Shepard thought in a moment of levity incongruous to the situation. _He's still holding back_.

Without pause for introductions, Shepard's pistol was up, and before a salarian could have blinked, he'd let off half a clip, expertly aimed at the shadow's center of mass.

And while a salarian can blink quite quickly, this impressive feat was wasted. The thermal rounds stopped dead in the air some two meters from their intended target, their momentum entirely absorbed. Their white glow winked out like fireflies caught in a specimen jar.

_A Barrier_, Shepard realized, thunderstruck. _He's a biotic_.

Which was about as far as he managed to get before the wall of mass effect energy shuddered and blasted in his direction, tearing off metal sidings from the ceiling and focusing into a cone of force directed straight at Shepard's torso.

The commander was lifted bodily off the metal floor, smashing headfirst into a titanium steel bulkhead. He heard an ominous crunching sound on impact. Shepard had a sinking feeling that it wasn't the bulkhead.

Stars danced in his immediate field of vision, and Shepard merely laid there, dazed, wondering what day of the week it was. He was a professional, of course, a trained Alliance soldier and a Spectre to boot. He'd have recovered within a few scant seconds. But seconds weren't a luxury Shepard could afford. With a speed and agility unadvertised by his unimpressive form, the figure leapt off his platform, feet clearing his master control console by at least a meter, and sprinted to the fallen commander's form.

Kneeling quickly beside Shepard, the Shadow Broker began to fidget with something on his palm. Shepard's vision remained too impaired to see clearly, and his brain too muddled to properly process what his confused eyes were reporting to it, but he could vaguely recognize another pair of bright, intelligent eyes. Eyes focused with all the wideness and glee of a child's.

The face was twisted by a cruel smile that exposed a row of immaculate white teeth. Was it Shepard's imagination, or were the incisors pointed like a wolf's?

Before he could react, the Broker ceased toying with his hand, revealing a modified omni-tool. But this was unlike any omni-tool Shepard had ever seen. It looked _cruel_ somehow. Extended metal phalanges curved along the fingers like skeletal antennae, and an omni-sensor winked malevolently in the palm.

"Like it?" the fearsome mouth asked, its words detected by the microphone wired to the Broker's jaw. With barely a nanosecond's delay, the same mocking question echoed over the speakers, rendered inhuman and utterly unrecognizable. The original voice, from the snippets Shepard could hear, was calm and clipped, with a dignified accent that brought to mind an ambassador or professor. "An old friend made it for me." The mouth sneered; the eyes, shining wickedly in the shadowed face, the faint blue shimmer of a biotic barrier still playing about its outline.

Shepard began to feel a trickle of life running through himself again. He shut his eyes momentarily, steadying his breath. In a moment, he'd focus his energy into a single, sudden motion. Grab that scrawny neck and twist, and it would all be over.

Just as Shepard's body began to imperceptibly tense for the attack, the palm was rested against his sweaty forehead. The omni-sensor whirred and the metallic nails cut tiny lesions into Shepard's temples and scalp. An immediate sense of relief overcame him, as what little strength he'd retained in his limbs deserted him entirely.

_Anesthetic_, mused the part of his mind that was still his own. _With a clotting agent to stop the bleeding._ He was about to be tortured and brainwashed. But for some reason, Shepard wasn't all that bothered by it. Suddenly, there seemed to be nothing more agreeable than to just lie there and accept his fate. To just drift off into a peaceful sleep. When had he last slept? Surely it had been too long…

_No!_ he thought, brain pounding furiously to combat the mild paralytic chemical, but to no avail. The neurotransmitter was fast-acting, and would cease to operate moments after the device stopped applying it. But by then it would be too late.

Shepard's eyes screwed shut, as though he could seal the Cipher's information from the Broker and contain it behind his eyelids like tears.

"Stop resisting," said the pleasant voice with its hellish echo. "The device is modeled after the asari nervous system. It took me years of research and more Eclipse _volunteers_ than I'd care to mention." A sincere chuckle now. Somehow sounded more sinister than the false laughter. "I'm cloning your synaptic pathways. I've been told the process is extremely painful when forced, but you won't feel a thing. Aren't I merciful?"

The mention of _asari_ set Shepard's blood boiling, but it was a distant feeling, almost remote. The Broker had taken a pure, meaningful experience and perverted it. And the thought of asari brought Shepard's mind to Liara. He saw her bright smile, and he tried to reach out to touch her, but his arms refused to move.

_I'm sorry, Liara. I failed._

A solitary tear came from the corner of the eye that wasn't pressed down upon by the Neural Render. It was over. All over. The Reapers would come. The galaxy would burn. And _Liara_… he couldn't bring himself to think it.

_It will all be over soon,_ the phantom Liara assured him, kissing him softly.

He felt the will to fight begin to leave him entirely now. The edges of his peripheral vision began to blur. The overhead light from the Broker's throne still shone scintillatingly, but the shadows seemed now to care not, pressing in against Shepard's world. Any second now, he knew, and his brain would hemorrhage.

And then it was over. The palm came away, and with it went the talons, with five separate _shlick_s. Five points of blood ran from the wounds before they sealed. They gleamed like rubies in the light of the omni-tool.

The Broker paid no attention to him, rising unsteadily to his feet. His withered heart accelerated in its first experience of genuine joy in years. Holding his fist up to the nonexistent sky, he cast his eyes about is exultation. He spoke as if to a great audience now, laughing out loud. "You see? Now, now I have it. The _Cipher_," he purred hungrily. Without so much as a glance at Shepard, who now writhed on the floor as the anesthetic wore off and the inhibited feedback from his pain receptors came through, the Shadow Broker staggered away, lifting the omni-sensor from its resting place.

It twinkled like an evil eye, and he presently slotted the thin disc into a slot at the base of his skull with a faint _snap_.

"Neural lace, synchronize foreign memories," he instructed.

Immediately his form tensed, his shoulders shuddering in paroxysms pain and euphoria. His pale hands curled tightly into fists, and his expression was screwed in concentration as his brow furrowed deeply.

Within his brain, memories that were not his own rushed through, breaking evolutionary barriers and opening up neural pathways that had long since been forgotten by sentient species. Algorithms, contingencies, languages, genetic memories, it all became clear to him in a way that Shepard could never have appreciated. It was his. All _his_. A galaxy of information, a star at the center of the dark universe that was his mind.

As this internal drama unfolded, Shepard's eyes focused enough to allow him to see a vent cover, previously electrified but now deactivated, slide from its housing. It clattered to the floor with a loud _clang_, but the Broker paid it no mind. He couldn't have heard it anyway, with the choir of a forgotten race singing in his ears.

From the shadows dropped a lithe figure, clad in Eclipse armor. Rising from a crouching position, Liara discarded her helmet contemptuously. Stepping forward, she drew a pistol from her belt, her blue face set in grim determination. Now that the moment was upon her, the singular instant she had dreamed about and feared for two years, she felt neither elation nor apprehension. She felt only anger. Pure hatred, boiling within her heart.

Eyes shining fiercely, she stopped her advance five paces from the shaking Shadow Broker, who remained seemingly unaware of her presence. Taking a steadying breath, she struggled to control her racing heart. The sound of Shepard's moans pained her greatly, but they were all the more reason to end this now.

This had all been part of the plan. She had overheard everything from her vantage point during Shepard's exchange with their enemy. Liara couldn't have intervened before now. The Broker was a biotic. She'd sensed it the moment she'd gotten within fifty meters of him. He was a center of neural energy, a vortex of power. A human shouldn't have that sort of biotic force; it wasn't natural. Even the best human biotic required years of training and painful drug injections coupled with cumbersome brain implants, and they never approached a level of power _anywhere_ close to what the Broker displayed.

It would have been suicide to attack him with his guard up. But now, now that his mind was in disarray, his biotic abilities should falter for a moment. As his mind struggled to reconcile his own memories with his newly stolen consciousness, his incredibly strong Barrier would be weak. Perhaps nonexistent.

The weapon rose steadily, her finger resting carefully over the trigger. She waited for the fluctuating protective nebulas surrounding the Broker to dim.

Liara pulled it.

Unfortunately, at that precise moment, the Broker ceased his violent convulsions. Eyes snapping open as though for the first time, he reacted with lightning reflexes. There was no time to dodge the shot, or to deflect Liara's aim, but he could erect a crude Barrier to redirect the blast.

The thermal round exploded on contact with the shield, causing both parties to stagger back. There was no elegant momentum-stoppage power now. The uplink had left the Broker weak. It took all of his remaining mental strength to marshal the mass effect into a usable form.

Liara knew this, and quickly wiped the startled expression from her features. Catching her balance, she let fly several more shots, buckling the energy field. There was no verbal response from the man before her, only an animalistic snarl and an intensification of the field. They stood, opposed like magnetic opposites, and these two equal combatants understood two basic truths: he was getting stronger by the second, but not fast enough.

He needed a game-changer, and years of scheming against and backstabbing his enemies and allies had long since taught the Broker to leave an ace in the hole in all situations. This was no exception.

Gasping for breath, he summoned the strength for one word, just as his Barrier dimmed and Liara's clip emptied. "Tazzik!"

Immediately, a false wall slid soundlessly aside, admitting a hulking figure. The enforcer Tazzik was a grim character, short of stature, but powerfully built. Uncommon in a salarian. He wore riot armor composed of titanium-fiber alloy, and his scarred face maintained an appearance of expressionless professionalism as he held a fold-out blaster to the chin of a limp form in his arms.

Liara recognized him out of the corner of her eye, but willed herself not to give in to the distraction, expertly reloading her weapon without so much as a downward glance (a trick she'd learned during her two-year stint as an information broker). Tazzik's muscled bicep curled about the scaly throat of a drell, battered and bloodied almost beyond recognition.

Almost.

"Feron?" Liara called out, maintaining her aim on the Shadow Broker, but suddenly unable to shoot. "Feron is that you?"

The half-dead figure's head angled to one side as his good ear detected a familiar voice. "Liara?" he croaked in a voice like crushed glass, speaking through cut and swollen lips. His bruised eyes swiveled blindly to register the source of her voice. "You came… you came back?" He coughed violently, and Tazzik tightened his grip. Feron whimpered quietly.

"Yes, Feron, we came." Liara felt her eyes water, and she blinked back the tears. Not now. _Goddess, not now._ "Shepard and I want to get you out of here." She smiled, and she wasn't quite sure why. "It's going to be okay," she lied.

Feron tried to laugh bravely, but it hurt his broken jaw. He managed to mutter childishly, "You came… I always… knew you'd come."

He fell silent. Liara tried not to think the worst, focusing instead entirely on the Broker. The tears flowed freely now, down her blue cheeks, falling on the steel floor like rain.

"Let. Him. _Go_," she snarled, teeth clenched to contain the scream that fought to be free of her heaving chest. "_Now!_" A sob worked its way into the last word.

The Broker rose from the prone position he'd fallen into. The faintest flicker of a Barrier shimmered about him. She could still take the shot, but what would happen to Feron?

He mustered the strength to smirk, nodding to Tazzik off of Liara's right side. "You know what to do," he instructed calmly.

The salarian shook his head in the affirmative. "Drop the gun, female," he barked in harsh tones. "Or I finish what I started two years ago." He tapped the barrel of his handgun against Feron's face to illustrate just what project he'd been keeping up on for so long.

What could she do? _There's nothing left,_ she realized with a sudden absence of dread. Hopelessness overcame her. _Feron is going to die if I do anything. If I don't, we all die. Shepard must be dead already. _I_ let him die. It's all my fault, all over again._ In her mind's eye, she saw the _Normandy_ blossom into flame once more. She fought the urge to break down entirely. Now was the time to make a choice.

A flicker of power shimmered behind the Broker's eyes. He drew himself up to his full height.

Liara's gaze traveled between her captured friend and her greatest enemy, vulnerable for the first, and last, time. There was no other option.

A slight ripple seemed to coarse outward from the human biotic, as a wide smile broke out over his shaded features. Even now, he still kept to the shadows. Liara felt utter disgust fester in her heart. This man was a monster. He had to die.

The blue field was there now, almost indigo, like a faint, second skin across his body.

It was now or never. Do or die.

"Feron," she called out, uncertain if he was conscious at all. "I'm sorry, I—"

A surge of power coursed throughout the room, like an earthquake shaking the very foundations of the facility. At its epicenter stood the Shadow Broker, triumph written over his vague features, easily discernable even in the dark. The suppression field forced Liara to her knees, knocking the weapon from her hand. Utilizing her last remaining breath before the air was shunted from her lungs, she rolled beside Shepard.

_At least we can die together._

She felt broken, defeated, completely devoid of strength of body or will. Fighting against the energy that weighed down upon her like an ocean, she extended a hand to rest upon Shepard's.

_It's over now._

But the end, it seemed, would not be quick. The Broker was not that charitable. He laughed, a high, cold sound that resonated within their very bones. Liara paid it no mind. The field had weakened now. She tenderly stroked away some of the blood that had matted on Shepard's face. He looked almost peaceful.

Somehow, that almost made everything worthwhile.

The laughter stopped, and immediately the Broker turned to his henchman. "Leave him." He gestured dismissively at the battered drell. Tazzik relinquished his bear hug without hesitation. Feron tumbled limply to the floor. "Bring it to me."

With a curt bow, the salarian bolted for the podium. Approaching the simple, unadorned chair, he tapped several commands into the interface, releasing a pneumatic pump on a sealed container at the throne's side. A cylindrical canister ejected itself from its casing with a _hiss_ of mist, and Tazzik snatched it up swiftly.

Within moments, it was in the human's hands. He took it almost reverentially, his knees nearly buckling in sick glee. At this distance, his human voice was undistinguishable from his robotic alter ego.

"_And now—_"

"Don't tell me," snarled a voice by Liara's side. The hand in her own tightened reassuringly. Glancing in surprise, she saw Shepard draw himself into a kneeling position. He didn't glance her way, however, instead focusing intently on their captor. "World domination?"

The Broker was in no mood to entertain sarcasm. "_Silence!_" he commanded imperiously, and another wave of energy pressed their knees against the floor. Shepard and Liara braced their arms against the ground to remain upright. They held, barely.

Shepard, however, did not seem to learn his lesson. "You're so quick to abandon your humanity, you bastard. What will you do with a Reaper implant? Is it worth it?" his voice was filled with a sudden, vindictive rage. "Is it worth the lives you've destroyed? What about _your_ life? What about the Admonitor?"

For once, the Broker was taken aback. Physically stepping away as though scorched by Shepard's words, he recovered quickly. Laughing less convincingly now, he decided to accept this last pathetic banter.

"_Do you know how I was created?_" he inquired gravely. "_How I became what I am?_" Even Tazzik leaned in closely. Evidently they were being afforded a rare treat.

He gestured expansively about his kingdom of shadow and steel, his eyes locking on each computer and each machine with genuine affection. In one hand he clutched the cylinder. "_The Council created me Shepard. Willingly. Two hundred years ago, the Council, _your_ Council, formed an ultrasecret branch of the intelligence service. The Spectres were to maintain it._"

He smirked wickedly at Shepard's dumbfounded expression. "_Yes, I thought you might appreciate that. The database assembled would maintain tabs and dossiers on all galactic affairs, from trade to war to espionage. It was a glorious system. For decades it operated smoothly, until one councilor grew greedy. Enticed by the secrets he was given, he murdered all others who knew of the system, and used it to his own ends. Since it was so secret, no one was the wiser._

"_He passed it on to his son, and from him to his son. A long line of turian politicians who utilized their information monopoly to establish a behind-the-scenes advantage on their political enemies. They controlled much, but not everything. Eventually the Spectres themselves took issue and assassinated the entire family. The entire scandal was kept quiet by the Council, who locked down the system, despite its being years ahead of any technology they had._"

His bright eyes seemed to look back through the long years. "_Eventually, when humans joined galactic society, our Alliance received word of this system. I was part of a mission to analyze the threat this intelligence agency might pose to humanity._"

It was unlike the Broker to speak so freely, but what was the harm? Why not torment Shepard with the most terrible weapon of all: the truth? _They'll be dead soon, regardless,_ he rationalized. _Tazzik, too_. The enforcer was blindly loyal, but for what he was about to do, there could be no witnesses.

"_We were granted security clearance to view the system, to reassure the Alliance that it was defunct. It was then I understood: this was my place. The system was beautiful, if damaged. A derelict communications vessel, with its operating systems intact. The Council hadn't even thought to remove its comm relays on the fifty worlds it once monitored._

"_I had to have it. I made contact with a disgruntled officer. A distant relative of the old turian clan. Newly appointed, too. It took time, but I won him over to my side. To make a long story short, we hijacked the vessel from dry-dock._

"_I killed him shortly after,_" he commented pleasantly. "_I scuttled the ship, too. It was a marvel, but outdated for my purposes. It was necessary to destroy it to throw smoke on my trail. I cloned the operating system's basic design, and left the turians to think that one of their own formed an ill-conceived plot for revenge. Their security would have caught up with me, regardless._"

"You monster," Liara breathed, but the Broker paid her no mind, lost now in his recollections.

"_It was a simple matter to embezzle funds from the Alliance to construct my prototype system. It performed basic hacking and information theft. Small-time profits. I even kept up my job as a front. But then I stumbled onto something big. It seemed an ambassador had murdered an asari consort. I made my first million credits blackmailing him. And when he turned to the authorities, I took out a contract on his life._"

Shepard kneeled, head bowed against the constant pressure of the biotic field, a sense of revulsion towards the Broker coming over him. This was how it all started, then. The extortion, the murder. Those hit-men must have gone on to become the first Shadow Broker agents.

The Broker himself continued his tale. "_I quickly became very, very rich. I bought out an apartment on the Citadel. A penthouse. I was young and foolish then. C-Sec caught up with me. They didn't know the full story, but they knew enough to link me to one of my agents in their custody for arson._" His mouth compressed into a grim slash of distaste. "_The damage was done. I'd attracted enough attention already living so finely off of a technical consultant's salary. It was time to disappear. I staged my death: a marvellous little shuttle accident that conveniently took out my agent's cell block. You know what they say,_" he sneered, "_Two birds, one stone. I was much more careful after that. I laid low, went to ground. I had funds, but I was not going to give up my network so easily. I made new contacts, stole more secrets. Military, mostly. But my biggest triumph was _him." He glanced in Shepard's direction cruelly. "_The Admonitor, as I named him. A technical genius, I'd discovered him while mining data on Citadel medical records. The poor fool was hung up about some woman, but what interested me where his patents._" He seemed close to salivating. "_Fuel cells, pulse drives, and,_" he paused for emphasis. "_A prototype device to exchange information mobilely anywhere in vicinity of a Mass Relay, from the hand alone. I took him in, and you know the rest, Shepard._"

His smug expression faltered slightly. "_He told you. My right-hand man, the only one to whom I ever gave any measure of trust, because he appreciated my genius. We understood each other. And he betrayed me to _you._ I only recently learned. I was wrong to trust him. Friends are a liability._"

"He was never your friend," Shepard corrected. "The Admonitor was brainwashed. You indebted him to you by extending his wife's life. He hated you for your crimes, but loved you for what you gave him. You never wanted to help him. Not really. He is a good man. You used him, and _you_ never deserved _his_ trust."

Concealed by the shadows, the Broker paled in livid fury.

Shepard didn't take the hint. "You're a greedy fool. You turned your back on everything the Alliance stood for, corrupted when you just saw that system. And when you saw the Admonitor, you had to ruin his life too." The human commander winced momentarily as his skull throbbed painfully. "I don't care how you built your damned empire, _Prince_. I want to know _why_ you betrayed the Alliance and the Council."

"Why you insolent—" Tazzik began, hefting his handgun, but the Broker cut him off with a deft motion, eyes fixed hatefully on Shepard. He drew near, walking slowly, so that his human voice could be faintly heard again.

"You are quick to dispense judgment, Commander," he began, his tone dangerously soft. "I am not the villain of this piece," he growled. "_I_ refused to fight during the First Contact War. _I_ advocated peace. You're young Shepard. Do you know what society, _our_ society, was like before we found the Relays?" When no answer was forthcoming, he proceeded. "It was _precisely_ the same. The bureaucracy, the wars, the waste and the greed. I hoped that, when we assimilated into alien society, we might be enlightened. Things might _change_. But the sentient races, regardless of the differences they boast, are all the same. The universe is an evil place, Shepard. _I_ merely capitalized on the crimes of the Council and its kind. _I'm_ just a war-profiteer. If you're looking for the real criminals, hold a mirror to the galaxy."

He spat the last few words vehemently. Shoulders heaving in agitation, the Broker quickly regained his composure.

"As for my humanity, Shepard, I am glad to shed it. Being human, being _organic_, is a weakness. I've given up on the races. Chaos and death are not my doing. _I_ did not kill you Shepard. I just took your corpse. And the Admonitor, he is the last living person who knows me from my early days, before I created my true name, and allowed stories of my existence to leak to the galaxy to inspire awe and respect. He has been the closest thing I have to a friend, and therein lies the problem."

Shepard felt a sense of dread tingling in the base of his skull. The Broker began typing commands into his omni-tool as he spoke with stern conviction as he spoke. "I was blind to his betrayal, Shepard. Only an Omega camera not in my system alerted me to your presence. When he did not report it, and I discovered his guards were under orders not to talk, I understood. My emotions were my only fault, Shepard," he explained with eerie calm. "But not anymore."

Raising his arm, the Broker projected a virtual screen into the air, a recording from a helmet cam. The footage displayed the interior of a humble apartment.

"Oh no," Shepard whispered, glancing meaningfully at Liara. She met his gaze with grim understanding.

_He wouldn't,_ Shepard thought desperately. _His only friend…_

The recording, dated just an hour prior, showed a team of guards making their way through a dining room. In their search, they kicked over a dinner table, set with loving care for two.

"You didn't," Shepard begged, the bravado gone from his words.

The Broker said nothing, only stared, his face inscrutable, at the hologram. Shepard could see in the torn expression on the man's face and knew that for the first time in a long time, he was feeling something approaching guilt.

As if sensing his thoughts, the Broker answered, "I did." He seemed to be saying it more to convince himself than his company.

The paramilitary troopers flanked the stairwell before storming up it, weapons drawn. They burst through a flimsy wooden door into a quaint little study. Seated in a rickety chair, for perhaps the first time in years, the Admonitor rested peacefully.

At the sound, he barely spared the intruders an upward glance, his milky white eyes undetectable in the black-and-white video feed. There was no audio, and Shepard could only watch as the mercenaries formed a solid semicircle barring his exit.

The withered man made no move to fight or run. Merely sat there, a sad smile playing out across his wrinkled features. In his gnarled hands he clutched a photo frame tenderly, pressed against his heart.

The Shadow Broker guards, until recently the Admonitor's, seemed to confer with the squad leader, who listened to some sort of audio command over his headset. Nodding calmly, he gestured to his men, who primed their weapons.

It was only a video, he understood these events had already played out like some evil drama, but even now Shepard struggled to get up, somehow hoping to stop it. He could not, and watched as the Admonitor rose proudly to his feet.

Face directed uncannily straight at the camera, his smile widened. Opening his arms as if to embrace an invisible friend, he spoke. His final words were lost to the deaf device, but Shepard could lip-read. Any decent soldier could. But suddenly, he found himself wishing he was ignorant.

_Goodbye, Shepard,_ the Admonitor said. _I believe._

Shepard looked away. He didn't need to see the flashes of gunfire, or watch the frail old form collapse into his trusty chair, to know it was over. The Admonitor was gone.

There was a moment of silence as all parties watched. No one seemed willing to speak, and even the Broker gave pause at the sight of the atrocity he had ordered.

"You bastard," Shepard screamed at last, bringing his eyes to meet the Broker's accusingly. "You killed him!"

Liara shed a silent tear, beyond words now. Another name was to be added to the long list of those to be avenged.

The Shadow Broker seemed to snap out of his momentary lapse of humanity. "He was the last tie," he muttered with an air of finality. As he backed away, his words took on the synthetic tones again. "_My final link to my past. Now… now I can transcend._"

The twisted being before them managed to pervert his fleeting guilt into cruel satisfaction. "_I have wasted too much time,_" he asserted calmly, punching in a seven-digit code into the cylinder he'd forgotten he was carrying up until now. It popped open, whisper-silent.

Within, something black and metallic shone alluringly.  
Lifting the Reaper implant from its casing, the Broker let the metal canister fall. Just another tool to be discarded, like the Admonitor.

He stared at it, hypnotized, for a moment, before glancing one last time contemptuously at the fallen forms of his two greatest enemies. "_It is over now, Shepard. The Reapers are coming, and I will not sid idly by and die with the rest of you. If it's any comfort, you won't have to see it. I will kill you personally._"

He twirled the alien object in his fingers. It refracted the light, seeming almost to absorb it, like a miniature black hole in his hand.

"_I am the embodiment of the galaxy's evils, Shepard. An icon of sin. I give up my humanity to become something more. To be human is to die. I will not surrender my mind to that black void. I will live on, forever, a perfect machine. My mind is flawless, and so I shed my mortal shackles, at last._"

Shepard tried to find the will to warn him one last time, but he found that no pity remained in his heart for this perverted soul. Indeed, he didn't feel much of anything anymore. Only a sense of resignation. He took Liara's hand, and, together, they watched the Broker slot the malignant device into his neural lace.

"_I must thank you Shepard,_" he said, although no effect was immediate. "_With the Cipher, at last I can see_." Then, to the machine within his skull that he loved more than any living being, he ordered, "_Implant, commence cellular conversion._"

Shepard had seen this once before, when Saren's corpse had been revived remotely by Sovereign. He had no desire to watch it again. He took Liara close, his movement still restricted by the energy field, and kissed her gently.

The brown eyes met the blue.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear, and she shook her head reassuringly.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. I love you," she replied, and kissed him back.

Then, before either of them could do any more, they heard it. A low whining sound, grating on the ears like claws on steel. Their heads whipped in unison to the source of the noise, as the Broker stood erect, his palms pressed against his forehead.

His entire form shook violently, moreso than when the Cipher had been installed. But this time, the biotic field did not weaken, only grew stronger uncontrollably, as though his biotic mind was flexing its proverbial muscles.

He groaned out loud, eyes screwed shut. The implant had mostly disappeared into the Broker's skull, but a thin line of it could be seen, glowing along the uppermost vertebrae. It emitted faint sparks as it hummed ominously. Even Tazzik shifted uncomfortably away from his twitching master, asking faintly, "Sir? Are you alright?"

The Shadow Broker ceased his spasms abruptly. Straightening himself slowly, he opened his eyes carefully. If the Cipher had taught his mind to listen, than the Reaper technology had shown him how to see. For a brief moment he stood stock-still, his face blank, before springing to life. With a bound that was beyond someone of his stature, he leapt jubilantly, with a mad cackle that did not suit him. His natural voice carried far, as the electrical shock from the implant had shorted out his wire microphone.

"My friend," he called out to Tazzik, "I am more than _alright_. I am… I don't have words for what I am!" A wide smile split his face. It did not look natural on his scheming features. "I am… _powerful._ Can you feel it?" He asked to no one in particular. Or perhaps to himself. "Yes. _Yes_. The energy, it courses through me!" He raised his fists to the air, and the biotic field nearly flattened Shepard and Liara. The enforcer, some twenty paces away, stumbled.

"I could crush all of you with but a single thought! I can _think_ clearly now. I didn't know how ignorant, how _stupid_ I have been up to this point! I can still feel it whispering to me, inside my skull. My cells, I can _sense_ them growing cold. Then I feel nothing. It is improving me, from within. My bones, they ache now, but I can feel the alloys fusing to them. How is this possible from such a small device?" He rambled on for several seconds to himself, waving his own fingers (were they slightly longer now, and perhaps a little pointed?) in front of his eyes. Shepard knew what would come next. Within minutes, his eyes would burn away, converted into synthetic nodes. If what he said was true about overcoming indoctrination, than he would be as he said: immortal. An AI. Shepard shook his head in disbelief. The Broker had done it… he had beaten death.

"They will be as ants to me," he decreed shrilly now, stooping over, his eyes, already a little brighter than was natural, seeing the dark chamber in complete night vision. "I am… a _god!_"

This alarming statement was followed by something perhaps even more startling. The Broker shuddered once more, this time his face twisted in pain.

He quickly recovered. "It is nothing," he laughed, consoling himself. "Perhaps more energy to wield. Now," he snarled, turning to Shepard and Liara. "Which of you will I kill first—_augh!_" The Shadow Broker staggered backward, his hand instinctively flying up to the implants.

"Tazzik—" he groaned, winded, then immediately straightened. His face wiped clean of emotion once again, he announced. "Nothing. I am fine. I have it under contro—_ugh!_"

That sent alarm bells ringing in everyone's heads. "Sir, do you require assistance?"

The Broker nodded, his face contorted once again. "Yes, I— No. I do not. We are fine."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

Shepard felt his stomach drop. Pupils dialating in fear and realization, he turned to Liara. "We—?" he began, but a sudden scream from the conflicted Broker cut him off again.

The human's hands shot to his temples, scratching fiercely. The biotic Barrier that held them down intensified. The Broker's fingers cut into his skin slightly, but drew no blood. They seemed to scrabble desperately for the rear of his head, but some unknown force stalled them.

"I… I don't _understand_—"

"Master—" Tazzik called out. If he had possessed any measure of sense, he would have retreated swiftly at this point.

"_Be silent_," the Broker intoned, his voice oddly deep even without the synthesizer. Then, "No, help!"

The salarian, confused by the conflicting messages, elected to act now and ask questions later. Stepping swiftly forward, he extended a hand towards his employer, but it was violently struck away.

"_We are fine_," the voice that was not the Broker's droned, followed by a shrill screech from the human personality. "Oh _god!_ What. _Is._ This!"

His scream was continuous now, growing in pitch until it hurt Shepard's ears to listen to it. Then, suddenly, as the thin body thrashed and struggled one last time, the Broker fell completely still.

There was a brief silence, as he seemed to shrink in on himself, before suddenly an explosion of force rocked the room. Light strips burst in their sockets, machines screamed as their casings were torn apart, and cables tore from their plugs to flail about the room like writhing electric serpents. One of these caught Tazzik in the chest, hurling him backward to collapse on the ground in a hail of sparks.

Shepard and Liara could only gaze on, transfixed, as molten lines of energy spiderwebbed across the Broker's skin where his veins once were, cracking it like tectonic plates. The orange glow extended upward along his body, as the Shadow Broker was lifted off the floor, levitating as the mass effect coursed violently through his form.

The trains of energy snaked into his eyes, and they burst like ripe berries. Again, no blood gushed forth, only a stream of light through each socket, as fiery as two miniature suns.

A humming sound deadened all other noise in the room, as whirlwinds of energy careened about the Broker. At the center of this firestorm that illuminated every corner of the metal chamber, the mouth that was once the Shadow Broker's parted in speech, and it was a voice that exceeded the original synthetic model in depth and resonance. It was a voice Shepard knew all too well. A voice from his nightmares.

"_Assuming direct control_."

No. This wasn't possible. Not him. Not here. How could he have been ready to act when the implants had not even come from his own ship? Was he present in every Reaper, living and dead?

They had to act, before Harbinger took to his usual course of action and began decimating the room. Shepard struggled against the energy field only to discover that is was gone. His own astonishment had kept him rooted to the spot.

He rose quickly to his feet. A Reaper possession would buy him some time, but not much. He needed a weapon, fast.

Searching frantically, his eyes cast upon the form of Tazzik, who stirred weakly. Sprinting over, with Liara close behind, he hauled the salarian to his feet. Liara took back her pistol and tossed a second to Shepard, while the commander shook the enforcer by the lapels of his armored suit.

"Listen up," he shouted over the howl of Harbinger's transformation. "You boss is dead. Now I can kill you, or you can help us fight this thing!"

The salarian took a few precious seconds to size up Shepard and Liara, then size up the glowing monstrosity that probably wouldn't be writing him another check anytime soon, and made his allegiances clear.

"Fine."

Without another word, Shepard sprinted for cover behind the throne. Liara ducked behind a destroyed server, while Tazzik stood his ground.

Three weapons trained themselves on the Reaper thrall just as his charred feet touched the floor. The glowing eyes immediately swiveled in Shepard's direction, guided by some malign intelligence.

"_Shepard. We meet once again._" The voice resonated from the gaping maw of the one-time Broker.

Tazzik responded immediately with a hail of rounds from his weapon. They impacted harmlessly along the armored and Barrier-coated skin of the Harbinger/Broker creature. It replied in kind by sending a volley of dark energy orbs cascading toward the salarian enforcer. He jumped to the side swiftly, but not swift enough. The first impact splintered his shields and armor. The second tore him in cleanly in two. It seemed the Broker's original biotic might had amplified Harbinger's natural energies.

This wasn't going to be easy.

Shepard glanced toward Liara's hiding place. The asari returned his stare, nodding swiftly. He saw biotic energy gather about her fists as she channeled her strength into a powerful Barrier. Shepard admired her courage, but he knew it would be suicide to attempt a direct assault. Giving Liara the _No fly_ hand signal, he peeked around cover, where one of Harbinger's hurled projectiles nearly gave him a permanent haircut.

"_Your race has ended, Shepard,_" Harbinger called out. "_It is over. Surrender to the inevitable_."

Shepard sighed internally. This guy just couldn't shut up, could he?

Leaning over the throne, which turned out to be more heavily reinforced than its meek appearance hinted, Shepard loosed a half clip at Harbinger, who deflected the shots easily. Tiring quickly of the game, the Reaper remotely guided his puppet along the rampway that led to the central podium.

The commander swore, crouching back behind cover as pieces of molten ceiling rained down on his shoulders. Harbinger wasn't letting up, fists hurling globs of energy at the human's hiding place.

With only seconds to spare before Harbinger introduced himself by way of a fist through Shepard's skull, Liara burst from cover. Twisting her glowing hands intricately, she warped space about the Reaper thrall in a powerful Singularity. And while Harbinger was nearly immune to physical attack, he could be slowed.

His return fire sent Liara scrambling for cover, and Shepard took this opportunity to unclip a flash-bang grenade from his belt. It wouldn't harm Harbinger, especially with his defenses, but it would get him off of Liara's back.

Pulling the pin, Shepard didn't bother counting to three before letting the grenade fly. It tumbled precisely between Harbinger's feet just as he cleared the podium ramp.

Remembering to shut his eyes and cover his ears, Shepard discerned the satisfying flash of light through his eyelids. Harbinger might be a sentient machine, but his personal puppets were still partially living, if deformed, flesh. The blast overloaded his ocular sensors and yielded an unexpected side effect.

The Shadow Broker's body shuddered, energy lines darkening and biotic Barrier flickering as it spasmed uncontrollably once again. The deep voice of Harbinger was interrupted by the hysterical tones of the human he possessed.

"Get. Out. Of. My. _Head!_" he howled, twisting violently. Shepard knew an opportunity when he saw one, and rose to finish the job. Unfortunately, a spasmodic blast of energy lanced from the Broker's fingers, knocking the human commander off of his feet.

Thankfully, the force was reduced due to the hybrid personality's conflicted state, and Shepard was merely very badly winded. His armored chest was also entirely totalled, but it was a price worth paying to stay alive.

But the moment of resistance from the Broker, and their one window of opportunity, was passing quickly, and Shepard wasn't qualified at the moment to tie his shoes, much less fight.

She knew what she had to do. Something she had been praying for, and dreading, for two years. Liara broke from cover once again, her blue eyes alight with anger. Racing with desperation, she clambered over the consoles that separated her from her bondmate and the Broker.

Crawling onto the platform, she sprinted now the last few meters toward the throne, beside which the Broker thrashed violently, loosing richocheting biotic shots at unexpected intervals. Ducking a blast too close for comfort, Liara screamed as she approached, "You will not kill him! He. Is. _Mine!_"

With that she skidded to a halt, and without hesitation plunged her armored fingers into the socket at the base of the human's skull. The little device came away surprisingly easily, a blackened tumor trailing long, dendrite-like branches into the Broker's nervous system that hadn't been there before he'd inserted it.

Snarling fiercely, she wrenched the implant away. Circuits snapped and the implant recoiled like a wounded parasite as it skittered away across the floor to come to rest in a dark corner of the room.

The effect was immediate. Silence fell across the chamber once again, and it darkened considerably as the glow about the Broker's body dimmed. The hellish eyes grew to dark, empty sockets, and without a word, the Shadow Broker fell.

His body sprawled across the floor, a single gasp escaping his burned lips, an expression of unknowable pain written across his features.

Liara had no time for celebration. Rushing over to Shepard's downed form, she expected the worst. _Not again. Please, Goddess, don't make me lose him again._

Shepard wasn't moving. Drawing him towards herself, Liara had just begun to probe the cleaved N7 chest plate for injuries when Shepard snapped to life. Before either of them fully knew what was happening, he was kissing her blue lips with a fervor.

Suddenly, everything seemed right with the universe. His hands reached up to pull her closer, and for what seemed a much-awaited eternity they remained blissfully ignorant of the universe beyond themselves.

It was_ over._

After the eternity ended, they broke apart unwillingly. It wouldn't do to waste too much time kissing in the middle of a hostile base. Things were far from finished. There was a platoon of mercenaries hammering on the blast door, the console readout informed them, and Garrus and Thane were nowhere to be seen.

"We have to get out of here, Liara." Shepard called, stepping disgustedly over the crisped remains of the Broker. "There's nothing left for us here."

There was a brief silence, as Shepard noticed Liara's back to him. She stood, bathed in the glow of a half-dozen remaining monitors, across which scrolled messages and transactions faster than the eye could follow. Even damaged as it was, the system continued to operate as it was designed to do. The head of the serpent was dead, but its long body continued to survive, if only for a while.

"Isn't there?" Liara inquired simply, but her voice was cold. Distant. Shepard had heard it once before. On Illium, when they'd been reunited. He knew where this was going.

Immediately stepping forward, he rested a consoling hand on her shoulder. "It's too dangerous, Liara. We have to go."

She drew away slightly, sparing him a torn glance. "But… _Shepard_, it's _all_ here! Everything the Broker's _ever_ worked for! There might be plans, ways to stop the Reapers—"

Liara was rationalizing and they both knew it. "He had no other plan, Liara," Shepard stated, worried. "You saw what he was driven to. Indoctrinated by the implant before he'd even used it. That was his only plan. There's nothing of use to us here."

The asari was only half-listening. Her fingers quickly tapped commands into the console interface, running several diagnostic searches.

"Military plans," she rattled off, a strangely excited tone in her voice. "Invoices, surveillance tapes, Shepard, we can _use_ this!"

"We don't need it," he said sternly.

Liara shook her head, irritated. "How can we just let all this go to _waste?_ What about all the lives he's destroyed? Surely we can salvage… _something_ from this!"

Shepard gestured to the broken form that rested across the chamber. Feron stirred gently in a deep sleep, utterly exhausted. "You know what's he's done to him. To us. It's not worth giving up your spirit Liara. The system is evil. It can't be redeemed…"

He rested a gauntleted palm over hers in mid-type. Pressing his lips to her ear tenderly, he whispered, "Let it go."

She spared the console a final glance, her pretty face torn in indecision, before sighing heavily and nodding. "You're right. I— I don't know what came over me. I've just…" her voice shook. "I've been in this business for so long. I don't know if I can switch off." A little sob shook her, and Shepard embraced her fully.

"It's over, Liara. It's been two years. It will take time, but you'll move on. You just need to end it. Here and now."

Liara squeezed him tight a little longer, than turned back to the machine. It winked seductively at her, but her resolve did not waver now. Executing a series of commands, she sent a message to all of the Broker's remaining troops, advising them that a reactor meltdown was underway and that they should proceed to their evacuation shuttles immediately. That got rid of the guards outside fast.

Emergency klaxons whirred to life overhead. They had a few hours before the station blew, claiming the Broker and his infernal machines forever.

As she worked, Liara casually selected one file in particular from the database, discreetly downloading it to her omni-tool. Within seconds, it winked a faint gold and scrawled _Download completed_ across its screen.

She muted it so that Shepard would not hear the verbal announcement. The commander had turned away and was preparing to assist Feron. Tazzik, the salarian, was beyond help now. Liara couldn't say she was sorry for him, after all he'd done.

Without a word she pocketed the device before turning to Shepard, a wide smile written across her azure features. She'd keep the file. Her first glance at it had proven _most_ educational. And despite what Shepard had said, perhaps he was wrong. Maybe the Broker had been wrong too.

There might just yet be a weapon to use against the Reapers.

Wrapping an arm about Shepard, they had begun to step off of the pedestal when a clawed hand snapped out and seized the commander's ankle.

Spinning around, they saw the Shadow Broker rise as if from the dead. His skin was cracked and charred beyond recognition, his eyes sunken and blind as the Admonitor's had been. His mouth hung limply where the transformation had warped his jawbone, and his movements were jerky as his nervous system failed. The picture of defeat.

And yet he lived. Wordlessly, Shepard and Liara drew their weapons in unison.

In a voice like crushed glass, the broken man, for he was a prince no more, rasped, "You. _Can't._ My system. I've… worked too hard. You _can't_… destroy it," he panted, but his lungs couldn't take in enough oxygen. His knees buckled. He tumbled, hands braced against the ground in a last-ditch effort to remain upright.

"_Please_…"

Liara had no words left for him. The desire to kill was gone. She felt no pity for this sad creature, but no hatred anymore, either. It was over.

Shepard spoke up. "You're dying. The system will be destroyed soon. You're finished," he spat with disgust.

As they began to turn away once more, the Broker moved one last time, with a flicker of the old strength he once possessed. Like a cornered animal, he lashed out, reduced to a bestial howl.

As one, the pistols were raised. Both fingers squeezed the triggers. Twin cracks rang out in the gloom, echoing into infinity. Two rounds found their mark.

The Broker was blown back, ripped open, onto the chair. He thrashed pathetically, just once, and lay still. His head rolled back grotesquely, and the dead eyes stared out into space for something they could not see. The Prince would sleep forever upon his throne.

There was a brief silence as they both acknowledged what had just happened. Quietly, Liara asked, "Which one of us killed him?"

Shepard tore his gaze away from the dismal creature. "Both of us. Or neither of us. Take your pick. Either way, you won't have to live with the guilt. Vengeance isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Liara nodded.

Without a word they left him there, focused more on their fallen friend. Shepard aided the drell to his feet, slinging him over his armored shoulder as he did so. Feron's head bounced up and down gently as Shepard and Liara guided him out of the perpetual night.

His battered eyes cracked open for a brief while, and a genuine smile touched his chapped lips. "Thank you," his whispered, his voice dull and tired. "Always knew you'd come… I have that effect on women," he joked. With a soft chuckle, he drifted off to sleep.

The trio exited through the entry hall, illuminated by the red glow of the emergency lighting. Liara spotted a discarded N7 helmet and handed it to Shepard wordlessly, who secured it over his head with a pneumatic _hiss_. Listening to the radio chatter for a moment, he smiled widely and glanced at Liara through his clear visor. He spoke in a low voice, so as not to disturb their friend.

"They're waiting for us at the pickup site. EDI's deactivated all the station defenses. Come on."

Together they passed over the threshold into the deserted halls of the base, making off after the confused Eclipse stragglers who were too frightened to question their presence.

Stepping onto an evac lift Shepard rested Feron carefully against a wall, and unsealed his helmet once again. Liara drew near, wrapping her arms about his neck in a happy embrace.

Things were far from over. The Reapers were still coming, and they would need a way to stop them. But for now they'd have to make do with their own small victory. The prince was gone, left to burn as his dark empire came crashing down. Now was a time for celebration. Today belonged to them.

They reached the landing site without incident. Garrus plagued them with questions, while Thane and Legion loaded Feron tenderly into the shuttle. Shepard waved him off. They'd have plenty of time to talk later.

Within moments, the Kodiak shuttle lifted off from the barren earth of the artificial world. The savage landscape turned beneath them as they rocketed away from the Hades Facility, toward the friendly sight of a frigate-class vessel, idling in low orbit. Through the front viewport, Shepard could have sworn he saw Joker's laughing face, and he could barely make out the words he was evidently shouting to those onboard.

_They made it. It's over._

It was over. For some, like the Admonitor, the end brought the merciful peace of death. For others, it brought closure. Their foe was no more, and whatever evils he had planned for the galaxy were finished before they had truly begun.

Shepard would not say this was a happy day. Too many people had been hurt. He thought of Tali, Thane and Feron soon to be recovering together in the medical wing from their injuries. He remembered the sad old soul of the Admonitor, and swore he could see his smiling face when he shut his eyes and rested his hot forehead against the cool transparisteel of the shuttle window.

_I believe, Shepard. I believe_.

Shepard hoped he was worthy of that belief. Of the trust others placed in him every day. There were dark times coming, that much was certain. He was going to need every friend he could get.

And now, after so long, he had something more. Feron hadn't been the only one they'd rescued from the Broker. They'd saved Liara, too. Saved her from a life of pain and remorse, just as she'd saved him. They could be together now. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, or where the Reapers would strike first. But for one singular moment, he didn't care. She was with him.

And that was all that mattered.

They stood close, gazing out at the infinite galaxy. She rested her head upon his shoulder, and he felt the reassuring beat of her heart beside his own.

Together, they streaked toward the stars.


	14. Epilogue

**A/N: Look forward to Mass Effect 3, Part II soon to come! Thanks for sticking with me along this great journey. Keelah se'lai.**

**The Celestial Viewing Chamber, Aboard Cerberus Stealth Ship **_**Kronos**_**, 0343 hours**

The ambient glow of the crimson supergiant, holographically rendered in the tiniest detail, cast off a soothing, amber light throughout the elegant chamber. Thousands of stars, minuscule, three-dimensional points of pale light, speckled the deep indigo hues of space that served as an infinite majestic backdrop to the heavenly scene.

The virtual star system expanded to fill the entirety of the Celestial Isolation Room, an apartment equipped with all the amenities afforded to a Citadel councilor, and then some, and all of it years ahead of _state-of-the-art_. But the millions Cerberus had paid for Verda Kon, the famed volus interior designer, to construct this aesthetic masterpiece (only in blueprint, of course, since no one was allowed to actually enter the chamber) was wasted, since its sole occupant never actually saw the sprawling living space. This was because, of all of the luxury suite's jaw-dropping functions, its most astounding (and most costly) feature was the fact that the entire room, from turian-carpeted floor to asari-mural-engraved ceiling was one single continuous Faster-Than-Light Comm Chamber, five times the size of the largest recognized holographic room on record, with fifty times the image resolution. It truly seemed as though the room's occupant was left drifting in breathtaking space. And it ran nonstop, as its tenant made many conference calls and the supergiant Typhon looming gloriously over his shoulder always made a profound impression on his clients.

In the warm glow of the virtual sun, the chamber was illuminated softly, every contoured surface of furniture designed to conduct the holographic signal blended imperceptibly with its surroundings. Only in the furthest fringes of the miniature galaxy did the light fade, dimming to a solemn black. The universe was kept at bay. Within here, he could find sanctuary, a last bastion of solemn, reflective peace in a universe torn by chaos.

In the vicinity of a magnificent ringed planet, a white disc of energy glowed, seemingly in the middle of space. In actuality, the holographic plate was inlaid carefully into the floor, and only seemed to hover mysteriously. Above it resolved the image of a woman clad in a form-fitting white jumpsuit. Her raven locks spilled back freely over gently sloping shoulders, and her face was as a summer storm; hauntingly beautiful, yet tempestuous and unknowable.

Her sharp eyes paid the stunning vista upon which she stood no mind. She had seen it too many times to remain entranced. The Cerberus loyalist only had eyes for a figure that appeared to orbit the gently revolving sun, reclining with the grace of a panther upon a low armchair. He seemed titanic in size when set against a star, though only his oiled gray hair could be discerned over the winged back of his seat.

A sleeved arm hung relaxed across the arm of the chair, an immaculately groomed hand fondling a trademark Cuban cigar. What with Cuba being such a small nation in an otherwise colossal galaxy, the cost of a genuine cigar was more than some people made in a year.

The reposed figure paid her no mind, only took a moment to take a long pull on his cigar. A faint cloud of smoke rose overhead as he exhaled audibly.

Drawing herself upright to attention, Miranda spoke, her accented voice resonating ever so slightly over the comm link, although to look at her one might have believed they could reach out and touch her. "It's over," she declared. "Shepard has killed the Shadow Broker."

The man's face remained relaxed, eyes shut as though asleep, his remarkably well-preserved features highlighted by the fiery light of Typhon. It seemed as though he would not answer, or perhaps had not heard his agent speak at all, but a keen observer might have noticed the faint wrinkling of his brow in deep thought.

After a moment, he stated, his emotions reserved, "Excellent. Shepard never fails to get results." There was a bitter note in his voice, though. Miranda could discern it. After all, Shepard _had_ refused to hand over the Collector Station, even after everything Cerberus had done to aid him. She was quietly grateful that her employer had decided to overlook the fact that she had backed Shepard in the decision. In retrospect, it was most embarrassing. She'd let her emotions and conscience get the better of her. As a professional, it wouldn't happen again.

Leaning in closer, although her movement was restricted by the glowing seal she stood within, Miranda, as one of the few people known to speak somewhat freely with the Cerberus leader, inquired boldly, "What happens now? The Alliance has made contact with Shepard. An Admiral Steven Hackett says he has a mission for him." Regardless of her rank and her leader's fondness of her personally, she spoke tentatively. The subject of Shepard's change of employment was a delicate one.

But the aging human male was not outwardly affected by the question. "We will do as we always have, Miranda," he dictated in a paternal tone, rolling the cigar absently between his buffed fingernails. "We will stick to the shadows; it's where we work best. We've stood by him this far, even after our… disagreement." His mouth pursed slightly for a moment. "We provided him with assistance during his last operation. Whatever our differences," the Illusive Man said coolly, "Shepard has the right intentions. The Broker had to go, just like the Collectors."

A brief pause, before he dared voice the question, glancing over his shoulder nonchalantly to mask his apprehension. "Tell me. The Broker network: what did he do with it?"

Miranda consulted a readout on a screen he could not see. "The reactor core destroyed the entire facility, our teams reported. We've managed to round up most of the Eclipse survivors from escape pods. They're being processed now. As for the system…" She frowned, her dark eyes narrowing intently. "He purged it." She had to fight a smirk from sneaking over her sharp features. _How typical of you, Shepard._

The Illusive Man winced, but let the matter go. "A pity. Regardless, he's done his job. The Alliance won't be willing to accept our aid. Things aren't that desperate, yet." Another pull on the cigar. He casually tapped the burned excess into an ashtray laid into his armrest. "We'll continue to provide Shepard with support, indirectly. The Reapers will be here soon, Miss Lawson," he stated grimly, eyes opening for the first time. They almost seemed to shimmer an electric blue in the faint light. "Shepard is one of our best." He turned away now, refocusing on the surprisingly gentle solar currents that rippled before him like waves on a fiery sea. The cigar rose again.

Miranda knew when she was being dismissed, but something nagged at the back of her mind. "I have the reports on the patient, if you want to hear them."

The Illusive Man made no gesture to halt her, only cocked his head to one side in mild interest.

With a curt nod, she opened the medical report. "Patient Two is in stasis, pending completion of cellular therapy. The reconstructive surgery of the chest cavity and the mandibular bone was a success. The left forearm couldn't be saved. We have one of our best surgeons crafting a prosthesis now. The bones of the entire torso and lower body had to be reinforced with implants, however, or replaced entirely. Brainwaves are approaching normal REM sleep, but the subject remains in induced coma until we are certain that the frontal hemispheres have recovered. There will be permanent scarring to the hippocampus and the frontal lobe despite the biochem treatments, which we can't risk cloning. The rest is operational."

She shook her head disbelievingly. "Personally, I can't believe the progress we've made. The project looks to be completed within two months. Not bad considering we've had to work in sub-zero temperatures to prevent decomp. It's a miracle the DNA survived the burns at all, and the brain was well-preserved."

The Illusive Man stroked his chin thoughtfully with his free hand before brushing some stray ash off of his designer lapel. Outwardly, he remained indifferent, but internally, his mind was racing at the possibilities. They'd never attempted something this radical before, not even with Shepard. The cost of such long-term refrigeration had been astronomical, but if affairs proceeded on schedule, it would all be worth his monumental investment.

A faint smile touched his lips. Unscrewing the burned-out cigar from his mouth, he sniffed it longingly one last time. "Well done, Miranda. I knew I could count on you. Keep me posted on the project, and on Shepard's Alliance mission. We may have shielded him from the Broker, but we're going to keep monitoring him ourselves." Here he actually grinned smugly. "Consider it a protection of our investment."

"Very good sir." Miranda inclined her head respectfully, and bowed out of the link.

Yes, it would all be worthwhile. Breathing deeply, the Illusive Man rose from his seat, dress shoes making contact with the invisible floor. Rising to his impressive height, he seemed to straddle the cosmos.

He considered the vast realm of stars that surrounded him. They were mesmerizing, but dangerous. The Reapers would be arriving out of that infinite darkness. The Alliance and the Council couldn't be trusted. It would be up to Shepard, and to Cerberus, to stop them.

_And perhaps a few others, too,_ he mused, considering Miranda's report. Pressing the smoldering remains of his cigar into the ashtray, he clasped his arms behind his back in pensive reflection. He had much to think about. There were new variables to be considered now. Shepard couldn't fight this alone. And he wouldn't.

_Because the Lazarus Project is far from over,_ the Illusive Man thought cryptically, turning his back on the celestial wonders before him, disappearing into the darkness of virtual space, leaving behind the faintest odor of cigar smoke.

_There's more than one dead Spectre in this galaxy._

* * *

**End of Part I**


End file.
